Of Hunters and Hellblazers
by Kitty September
Summary: John Constantine shows up out of the blue to ask for help and smirk at Dean Winchester. Crossover M/M implied Destiel.
1. Meeting in the Dark

Dean frowned when he saw a guy in a trench coat leaning against his Impala. It wasn't Cas. Cas was walking next to him. When they got close enough he stopped and sighed.

"Constantine," Dean said, keeping his tone sheet metal flat.

The scruffy blond was smoking. Of course he was. And he was going to ask for a ride. Never mind the fact that they were outside an abandoned mill in the middle of fucking nowhere. So he must have got there somehow to be available to lounge around and leer at Dean. But that wouldn't matter he'd still ask for a lift. And Dean would say yes or maybe even offer first to avoid having to capitulate. And then his poor baby would smell like those god-awful clove laced cigarettes Constantine smokes. It would smell like him for days. Maybe weeks. Gah!

"Winchester," John mimicked. "Dressing your boy toys up like me now? I'm flattered." He nodded towards Castiel with a smug smirk.

"Nah, he just came that way," Dean said and winked. Letting the double entendre slide between them like silk. Normally he would bristle at the implication. But there wasn't much point with bravado when you're talking to a guy who's fucked you so hard that you came untouched and screaming for more. It went right over Cas's head anyway.

"Cas that's Constantine, he's a selfish bastard but probably one of the best goddam exorcists on the planet," Dean said grudgingly. "This is Cas. He's about the most unselfish bastard I've ever met." He said it pointedly. Shit, so pointedly that it sounded petty. And now Cas was blinking at him in some sort of happy confusion. All 'oh my god Dean said nice things about me the world is a better place' bullshit. Great.

"Nice." Constantine laughed, rich and dark like chocolate and whisky. Dean locked his jaw and kept himself firmly planted at least 4 feet away from the other man. He was not some impressionable 20 year old. He had been to Hell and back himself - no way was he going to let the stupid 'Hellblazer' get under his skin again. Not that thinking that had helped last time or the time before that either. Damn it.

"I know who John Constantine is," Cas said surprising both humans. Constantine finally looked at Cas. Really looked, narrowing his eyes. "Mannael speaks highly of you," Castiel said with a slight nod.

The exorcist licked his lips slowly. For a moment Dean thought he was flirting with Cas already. Yeah, good luck with that, douchebag, the angel would be completely oblivious. But no he was doing that creepy air tasting thing. Testing the magic in the air. He shot Dean a slightly confused look immediately after but then turned back to Cas.

"Cas?" Constantine asked.

"Castiel," Cas said understanding and answering the implicit question.

That made John laugh again. "The angel of Thursdays and temperance? Well it's Monday night so I don't know what that means… and you're hanging out with Winchesters? Temperance and Dean bloody Winchester? That's bloody brilliant that is."

Cas looked confused. And, Dean thought, a little upset. It was the tiny backwards tilt of his head that gave it away. Dean was just taking a slightly aggressive step forward when he heard Sam's voice behind him.

"John? John Constantine?" Sam jogged up to them closing the distance and hugging the older man. "Good to see you, man."

"You too, Sam," Constantine said. He didn't let up the superior smirking but he had genuine affection in his voice as well "you too." They broke the hug but Constantine reached up to place both hands on Sam's shoulders and look him in the eyes. "Got your soul back I see? Well done!" He finally fully released Sam with a firm pat on the back.

Sam laughed nervously. "Yeah, that's a long story."

"Can't say there isn't part of me that's a bit disappointed," John said with a leer. "But probably for the best all round, yeah."

"Oh god," Sam said and winced. "I am so sorry about that."

At first Dean was confused by the exchange but then realisation hit. "You didn't?" he demanded. And he wasn't sure which man he was more annoyed at. Flirting with his angel was one thing but fucking his soulless little brother, no friggin' way. "Jeez Sam, is there anyone that you didn't…"

"No! No, no, no!" Sam interrupted him. "No, we didn't… not really."

Constantine was just laughing so hard he shook, again. And was that another cigarette? God that man was irritating. With his stupid trench coat and his stupid accent. And god damn it, Dean still had it bad. Fuck.

"And ah, thanks for that by the way," Sam said to John.

"What can I say," Constantine said and shrugged, "I'm amoral not immoral." And the bastard winked at Dean on the last word. Dean did manage to stop himself from saying it didn't even make sense. But it was a near thing.

"Why are you even here," Dean demanded instead. He wanted to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible. "We don't turn up in England being all…" He gestured vaguely at the other man in a way he hoped said 'irritating, in the way, and generally unhelpful.' But considering the smirk that it earned him that wasn't all it said.

"You did once," Constantine pointed out. And yeah they had, but getting Crowley's bones had been worth the god awful plane trip and dealing with Constantine in London. And the inevitable sex had been pretty good too. But damn it, this was at least the third, maybe fourth, time that the exorcist had turned up on their turf unannounced.

The distinction was unspoken but one that they all generally stuck to. You ask any hunter in the US who the best was and they would tell you it was the Winchesters, hands down. They might quibble about Sam or Dean being better but it was always one of them or both of them. Simple. In the UK it was a different story. British hunters would say it was probably John Constantine even if those Yankee boys did stop the apocalypse that one time. It was stupid but it still rubbed him the wrong way. And he suspected it didn't do much for Constantine's ego either. Neither of them really wanted to know who was better because they both suspected that it might not be them. Or worse that it might be and what did that say about the state of your soul.

"Why are you here, Constantine?" Dean repeated his question more harshly than he intended. Sam looked surprised by his hostility and Cas looked curious. John just looked amused. Of course.

"The usual," Constantine said. "Running away from me mistakes, running after evil blighters. Rising darkness, apocalyptic nonsense. Nothin' new."

"And what does that have to do with us?" Dean asked. He was going to help. Even if Dean wasn't putty in the Englishman's deft hands Sam would make puppy eyes and insist they help after hearing the word apocalyptic.

"Well," Constantine shrugged, "Seems Hell hath no fury like an archangel scorned." He actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Thought I might need some help."

"Archangel?" Sam said. Frowning as he checked the math, there weren't any archangels left for Constantine to have pissed off. Were there? Though if anyone was going to be able to piss off an archangel from beyond the grave it was John fucking Constantine.

"Gabriel," Cas said softly. "It is Gabriel isn't it?"

"But, he's dead?" Sam said, confused.

John laughed, but this time it was hollow and humourless. It didn't shake his body but it made Dean want to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless for a whole different range of reasons. Reasons he was even less willing to inspect than the first.

"My life would be a whole lot simpler right now if that were true," Constantine said.

Dean made the mistake of glancing at Cas. The angel looked desperately hopeful. Between Castiel being pathetic and Constantine being… Constantine… Dean knew he was totally screwed. He was absolutely stuck going along with whatever fucked up plan he was being lead into. Damn it.

"What do you want us to do?" Dean asked, giving up all pretense of resistance now. The quicker they got to the point the quicker this would all be over.

"Well," Constantine said with renewed cocky confidence, "I was rather hoping that you boys would help me trap an archangel in a ring of fire and nag 'em 'til he cries uncle. What do you think?"

Then the exorcist took a long step forward right into Dean's personal space. So close and sudden that it obviously shocked both Cas and Sam. But Dean was still familiar with this move. Even years later it still showed up in the occasional dream or shower time fantasy. Dean glared at him, holding eye contact but letting him lean in even closer to whisper hot and smoky against his ear.

"And after that," Constantine said, for Dean's ears only but letting his eyes slide to Castiel, "Maybe me 'n Thursday can spend a few hours finding out which one of us can make you beg for it once the trench coats hit the floor."

Dean didn't whimper. He didn't. But he knew he was totally screwed. Hell, he'd known it the moment he recognised the guy. God damn John Constantine.


	2. Righteous Men 1

**Authors Note:**

It has come to my attention that people on FF don't seem to like the interconnected series format of Hunters & Hellblazers and are getting confused - thinking that each story is the start of a separate verse/series. For that reason I'll re-post the stories here as one long multi-chapter fic for those who were confused by my style.

I'm adding these one shots/connected stories as chapters. So if you've read them as individual stories I'm sorry! They'll be named after the story title so you can just skip past the chapters you've already read. I also suggest that you check my profile for a full list of all the stories in this 'verse. About half of the stories in this series are rated too explicit for FF and are only available on AO3.

I've also posted them in semi-chronological order. Hope that helps even with the missing explicit stories.

* * *

><p>"You son of a bitch, you hung me out to dry!" Dean wasn't quite shouting but it was close.<p>

A few people had glanced in their direction when Dean stormed into the bar. But he just ignored them. The sort of people in a dive bar at 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon weren't going to be a problem. They weren't the sort of people who got involved in someone else's business if they could avoid it. Especially not when the someone else was as angry and well-armed as Dean Winchester.

"Hmm," Constantine scrunched up his face. "I think, technically, I used you as bait. There's a difference."

"You could've, oh I don't know… told me about it."

"Nah," John finished his drink and signalled the bartender for two more. "Wouldn't have been half as convincing. And you should've seen your face, mate. It was bloody priceless."

"I could have died?" Dean said. And why in the hell did that come out as a question?

"But you didn't!" Constantine pointed at Dean with his unlit cigarette. "You're very resourceful. I was almost certain you'd be fine. And look, here you are! No harm done."

The bartender returned with two glasses of whiskey. Constantine turned his attention to his own glass and shoved one towards Dean.

Dean sighed and took the seat next to the magus. Sure, he hated himself for it, but it had been a really bad night and an even worse day. He really needed a drink. Or ten.

Constantine lit the cigarette and they sat in silence for a while. Dean wasn't even really sure what he expected. It wasn't like the Hellblazer was going to apologize.

Did he even have a right to expect anything? What was he even thinking? Who drives thirteen hours because some guy calls and says: "Don't suppose you want'a come to Arizona and stab a few beasties in the heart for me do ja, luv?" and "I'll screw yer brains out if you do?" Dean had done more than drive to get laid. And stabbing blood sucking monsters was pretty much his job.

But that wasn't why he came when Constantine called.

He had been in Palo Alto he answered – even though he shouldn't have been anywhere near California. So yeah, he was only one state away. But it wasn't about that. Not really. It was about Sammy – who looked so happy and normal. Who didn't see Dean watching him. And would have been angry if he had. Sammy, who didn't want or need Dean anymore.

And it was about Dad too. Dad who had pretty much checked out after Sammy left. Just got even more obsessed with chasing down the thing that killed Mom. Dad, who was god knows where fighting god knows what. It was about Dean's whole shitty life. He wasn't just bored. He was just lonely. He was angry. At himself. At Dad. At the world.

There was something enticing in driving a thousand miles to screw the Hellblazer and stab some monster his dad had probably never heard of. It felt like a rebellion. Or as close to one as Dean would ever get, anyway. He wasn't like Sam. He didn't have it in him to stay gone. But maybe just a taste of freedom wouldn't hurt.

So, of course it all went to shit. John Constantine might be the Hellblazer, he might even be the best damn demon hunter on the planet, but he wasn't family. And Dean should have known better. Really the only person Dean had to blame was himself.

"I'm sorry," Constantine mumbled, more to his drink than to Dean.

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. For scaring you. For the whole set up. It wasn't… personal. 'S just what I do…" He glowered into his drink, "I just do whatever it takes..."

Dean stared at him. He really hadn't known what he expected storming in here to confront the Hellblazer. But it hadn't been this. Constantine really was sorry. But it also wouldn't stop him doing it again in a heartbeat. How could he live that way?

"Yeah, well. I don't usually work with people who screw me over." Dean knew he shouldn't push it even as he said it. But he couldn't help himself. It was like running his tongue over a loose tooth. Testing the edge of the pain.

"Guessing you don't normally work with people who screw you either," Constantine said and a bit of smug confidence crept back into his voice. Then he shook his head with a wry smile and signaled for another round. "It was important, you know."

"It's always important," Dean said, almost by rote.

"Nah, mate, this was really important. This wasn't just any old pair of Vetala. That thing they stole was the end of the sodding world kind of important."

Dean scoffed but Constantine just stared back impassively.

"Seriously?" Dean asked. Because, seriously?!

"There's worse out there than wolves and wendigo, Winchester. There's demons, and dragons and gods... green slimy guys in swamps... And there's some pure evil in that darkness. This thing, it's all tied up in that darkness. I've got to get it back to a guy in Louisiana before the new moon or we're talking old gods and blood rain. Armageddon."

"And that meant you had to fuck me over because?"

"Because it was the best plan. 'Cause sometimes you do a bad thing to win the good fight… Because there's always a price to playing this game, lad. And it's paid in blood, and sweat, and tears... And souls. Usually your own." Constantine moved in closer to Dean than he had been since before the show down. Right into his personal space to bring them face to face. His breath ghosting whiskey warm over Dean's skin. "Demons aren't scared of good guys, Dean. They're scared of guys like me. Because they know I'm worse than they are."

Constantine went silent and backed off when their second round arrived.

Dean realized it was the exorcist's third, at least. Maybe he should slow them down? And damn it. Dean knew himself well enough to know why he had that thought. He really was going to let the damn Hellblazer screw him as well as screw him over. Great friggin' willpower, Winchester. Fuck.

"But you know what's the very worst thing out there?" Constantine said pulling Dean's attention back into the moment. "It's us... One day you wake up and you realise that we're the thing in the dark… Men like us. We're what's worse than the worst… Because we've got to be." He lit another god-awful cigarette, "We're the righteous men, Winchester. And we're the God damned scariest thing on this God damned Earth. That's the scariest thing out in that dark. Seeing your own damned face looking back."

There was another long silence.

"Fine," Dean said. "I've got two weeks 'til I have to meet up with Dad. I'll get you to Louisiana if you help me with this possible voodoo thing I've got out that way. Sound fair?"

"Yeah," Constantine said. "You know lots of them rumours are true? I really am bad news, love."

"Yeah well," Dean said and downed his drink. "So am I."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Notes:<strong>

For those that spotted it "green slimy guys in swamps" is a reference to Swamp Thing aka Alec Holland. Swamp Thing was the comic that introduced John Constantine as a character. They're friends - as much as a morose plant man and a snippy bastard in a trench coat can be anyway.

Also, the 'voodoo thing' is meant to be the very same 'voodoo thing' case that Dean mentions having been on in the Pilot. So this first chapter occurs a few weeks before the show starts.


	3. Oblivion Bar

"Johnny Winchester! What's a good hunter like you doin' in a place like this?" Constantine slapped the man's shoulder slightly harder than was necessary. Then took the bar stool next to the hunter without waiting for an invitation.

"You mean an interdimensional demon bar?" Winchester said. "Mostly finished, actually. Just looking for the mighty Hellblazer." He said the word Hellblazer with almost as much scorn as Constantine himself. Impressive.

"That's a lot of effort for little ol' me," Constantine said cautiously. He lit a smoke while he waited to be served. When your tab was as long as his was it was best to be as polite as possible to the bartender.

"Yeah, it was," the hunter said. He spun a very special book of matches across his knuckles as he spoke. God knows what he did to get it. Those matches were the only way for non-magic users to find the entrances to the Oblivion Bar. And they were very well guarded and hard to come by.

"Right…" Constantine gave the eldest Winchester an appraising look. He couldn't help remembering Dean's comments back in Louisiana. The bloke wouldn't really come after him for shagging his 26 year old son, would he? No one was that bleeding stupid. Not even John Winchester.

They were interrupted, thank god, by Jim Rook, interdimensional bar owner and mostly retired superhero. Coming up to grudgingly take Constantine's order. He gave Winchester a suspicious look, non-magical humans were an unusual thing in this place and John Winchester was every inch the hunter.

"Jimmy boy, pint of larger if you please."

Jim tilted his head almost imperceptibly to Winchester and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask 'what does he want?' Constantine shrugged in response, 'hell if I know.'

"You plan on paying up any time soon, John?" Rook asked, out loud this time.

"Probably not," Constantine said giving Jim a big easy smile. He didn't even bother trying to lie. This was the Nightmaster after all. He probably kept the Sword of Night under the bar. "And 'sides, don't you still owe me for that Balrog thing?"

"Fine," Jim rolled his eyes but he poured the pint so John was counting it as a win.

Winchester waited until Jim was all the way down the other end of the bar talking to Dan Cassidy before he turned back to John. Although not before glaring at Dan's blue skin and horns with mild horror. Constantine couldn't help a small scoffing sound at that. Blatant speciesism – Cassidy had probably sent more demons back to Hell than all the Winchesters combined.

"I'm looking for The Colt," Winchester said. No small talk then. But at least it wasn't some kind of threat about his son's honour. So there's that.

"The Colt?" Constantine laughed. "I don't have it."

"Do you know who does?" the hunter growled. Grumpy. Maybe he did suspect something?

"Hey, mate. Remember who owes who after Georgia, yeah?" Constantine jabbed with his cigarette to make his point. "And remember who helped you with those weather patterns. You owe me. Don't get that confused."

Winchester had enough sense not to argue. Even if he did down his drink in one and put his glass down more forcefully than was necessary. Making trouble in the Oblivion Bar was plain old suicide and even the grumpy hunter seemed to realise it. When he clamped his jaw down like that Constantine could see the family resemblance. He wondered idly if flirting with John Winchester would get him punched, and if he did it in here probably get them both obliterated.

"That demon murdered my wife," Winchester said pulling John back to the present. It wasn't an apology but an explanation might be the closest this man got to one. "Do you have any idea what a man is capable of in that situation? I'll do anything to get that thing."

"Yeah. I know exactly what men like you are capable of doing, Winchester." He knew all too well what a man was capable of in revenge of a wife's death. He shook off the thought.

"Is there anything else? That can kill a demon?"

"Yes. All just as hard to come by, though. Kurdish demon killing knife, Angelic Steel, or y'know an angel; Cain or the First Blade, certain Babylonian blood spells, some Scottish bint… me." He glanced at the hunter and shrugged. "But those yellow eyes mean something. If it's who I think it is then a Kurdish Knife isn't going to be enough and I doubt you have angel feathers and baby's blood on hand. The Colt probably is your best bet. If you can find it. Last I heard some old vampire hunter had it out your way. Best I got."

"Thanks, I suppose." The hunter was standing.

"No problem, mate. Say 'ullo to Dean for me." Constantine smirked.

"What?"

"You know, your son. The pretty one."

"Whatever," Winchester said with a relatively mild glare. "See you later, Hellblazer."

"T'ra!" Constantine said in his best mockingly posh accent. He had a lot of practice with that one. He even gave a little wave to the hunter's back as he stomped out of the pub. Constantine sighed. That wasn't half as bad as it could have been.

Somewhere in the background a gravelly voice called out, "Anyone know the dimensional calling code for Earth 616?"

"Bloody hell," said a rich London accent behind Constantine's back. "It's literally 616. How hard is that! Some people."

Constantine sighed and not for the first time wished he had something worth praying to.

"I just wanted a quiet pint!" He complained.

"Good god, what rot. No one comes to the Oblivion for a quiet anything," Crowley said.

"I do."

"No, you don't. You come here on your way somewhere else so you never have to take a train that passes through Manchester or use the M1."

"Fine, that too. What do you want Crowley?"

"Souls, naked angels, a new azalea maybe, usual things," the demon said and shrugged. He took the seat just vacated by John Winchester.

"If I talk to you while I drink this you're paying my tab," Constantine said indicating his pint. It was usually easier to find out what the demon was up to by talking to him. Letting him think he was in control.

"Sure," Crowley said. He leant closer. "If you seal the deal."

Constantine laughed. Stubbed out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and twisted towards Crowley quickly enough to catch him off guard. Put a hand on the back of the demon's neck, pulled him in and kissed him like he meant it. It wasn't half bad actually. It tasted like sulphur, burnt sugar, and sin.

"Hey!" Jim called out and pointed meaningfully at a sign behind the bar. It read: 'NO SOUL TRADING ON THESES PREMISES'.

"Don't worry luv," Constantine called out. "Mine's already spoken for. Perfectly regular business arrangement."

"Was that one of the Winchester boys?" Crowley asked smoothing down his suit.

"The father," John said.

"You think he's the one?"

"Dunno, isn't that your area?" Constantine leant over conspiratorially. "You used to think it was me."

"Things change," Crowley shrugged. Then saluted the Hellblazer with his glass of poncey claret. "So why did daddy Winchester want to know about demon killing?"

"I'd say he want's to kill a demon?" Constantine said. He was pretty sure Crowley already knew but he only agreed to talk not actually tell the demon anything even potentially useful. He took a long pull of his drink. Getting this over with was probably a good idea.

"He's going after Azazel isn't he?" The demon drummed his fingers on the bar.

"If he was, that'd sure upset things downstairs."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, it would. It'd be a bloody shambles."

"You still King of the Crossroads? Still workin' for Lilith?"

The demon made a non-committal noise. But Constantine kept up with Hell's gossip. He knew he was right and he even knew that the demon was somewhat unwillingly shagging his boss.

"Int'resting," said the Hellblazer. "You think they'll ever get their act together? Pull off the big one?"

"Presumably," Crowley said with practiced ease. There was a considered pause.

"Lucifer never was very keen on demons, was he?"

"What are you getting at Constantine?"

"Just a thought. No more deals or contracts if the world burns, right?" He drained his glass and stood up. "No more angels in Soho, neither."

"That a threat, Hellblazer?"

"Oh no, demon, you'd know all 'bout it if I was threatening you," Constantine smiled, all teeth, then waved at the bartender. "Oi, Jim, Crowley's taking care of me tab. Thanks, mate."

Jim looked surprised but trundled off to tot up Constantine's extensive tab. Hell could afford it.

"Nice doing business with you Crowley," Constantine said. He put an arm around the demon's well-tailored shoulders and leant in close, "And, just a friendly reminder, if I see you anywhere near me topside I will have you back in Hell sooner than you can say 'contractual obligations' - and that's just if I'm feelin' generous. You might even get to find out just how threatening I can be, yeah?"

Crowley actually managed to glare at him. He just smiled, gave the demon a peck on the cheek, and sauntered out of the pub.

Back to London, back to reality. Back to ghosts, and possessions, lost artefacts and out of control magic. An empty bed and a broken kettle. It was raining. Of course it was.

**Notes:**

Jim Rook (Nightmaster) is a DC hero. He runs the Oblivion Bar and is the original owner of the Sword of Night (seen in Ep1.06 of Constantine).

Dan Cassidy (Blue Devil) is also a DC hero and Oblivion Bar bouncer. He's blue and has horns.

Earth 616 is a nod to Marvel's main universe. The interdimensional calling code on the other hand is a DC canon reference to the phone in the Oblivion Bar.


	4. The Pretty One

Dean is way too happy about this. It's a 10 hour drive from Manning, Colorado to Salvation, Iowa. And it's been years but Sam knows the look in Dad's eye. They'll be driving hard and fast. No leisurely hour long lunch stops during this trip. Dean likes driving but he likes lunch more.

Sure, they're about to go after the thing that killed Mom. And Jess. And yes Sam wants that. Wants it in a vicious bloodthirsty way that scares him, actually. But he isn't happy about it. He is nervous but he isn't excited. But Dean. Dean can't frigging wait to get on the road. He's even whistling.

They're packing up to leave the motel. And Dean is triple checking the damn trunk. Making sure everything is perfectly in place. He's been lazy with the pack out all year. But all of a sudden when Dad's around he's gotta be the perfect little soldier again. And he can't even see it. Doesn't even realize that Dad scares him into line. He's a 27 year old man running to daddy's every command. He couldn't believe it last night when Dad actually agreed with him about not following orders. And yet here he is humming away and happier than Sam has seen him in months all because Dad's back. Like Dad is going to magically fix everything by waltzing back into their lives. Yeah, right.

Sam shoves his own duffel bag into the backseat. Then drops his cleaned gun into the wrong compartment in the Impala's trunk. He's a little brother. It is absolutely his prerogative to annoy Dean as much as possible. Even on the way to a potential life and death showdown. It's what little brothers do.

Dean huffs, as expected. And puts the gun in its correct space. Dad comes out of the motel with another box of research. This has to be the last one, surely?

"Oh yeah, Dean," Dad says as he secures the box in the back of his truck.

"Yessir?" Dean says. Standing if not quite to attention then close. John fidgets with the box a bit and Dean is reaching to finally close the trunk when Dad speaks.

"I ran into John Constantine last week," Dad says.

And Dean freezes. Sam's impressed, sure, but he's not overwhelmed by it. It isn't that big of a deal. They both knew Dad had met the Hellblazer when they were teenagers. In fact he can remember how excited Dean was. Asking all sorts of stupid questions like Dad had stopped in the middle of a case to interrogate another hunter about his legendary history. Did he really spit in a demon's face? Can you see the hellfire in his eyes? It was actually kind of cute now Sam looks back on it.

"Oh?" Dean says. "I thought he was back in the UK?"

John's eyes narrow. But he doesn't know Dean as well as Sam does. He doesn't see the guilt in every tense line of his eldest son's body. If he hadn't been standing right next to him even Sam might have missed it. But he knows his brother and he knows that look. It passes quickly but Dean looks guilty. Not just guilty but caught out. What the hell?

"It's complicated," John says gruffly. Like he'd been caught out too. "Anyway, he said to say hello to you specifically. You must've made quite the impression, son."

Holy shit, was Dean blushing? He was. This is so good. It's one thing to go all fan-boy at 17. Totally another to still be doing it at 27. Sam is going to milk this for years. Fantastic!

"I didn't know Dean had ever met him?" Sam says trying for nonchalant. But actually he is a little surprised by that. He would have expected Dean to tell him all about it. Then again maybe it happened while he was at Stanford and it just hadn't come up.

"Huh," Dad frowns at them both. "It was that succubus thing in Atlanta. That was what, five or six years ago?" Dean finally gets his act together and closes the trunk, just this side of too much force.

"Seven," Dean answers. Just a little too quickly. "The- ah- succubus thing was seven years ago."

Ok. Weird. Sam was only 16 then. He didn't leave for Stanford until he was 18. Why wouldn't Dean have told him about it? Especially considering his severe case of hunter hero worship.

"That was your first, wasn't it?" Dad asks. Slams the truck's tailgate shut.

"What?" Dean yelps. Seriously what is up with him this morning?

"Your first demon? That succubus?" Dad's still frowning but he looks like he's trying not to laugh too.

"Oh… yeah probably. I don't really remember. Hellblazer took care of most of it." Dean shrugs and scrubs his hand through the back of his hair. He's really uncomfortable. Which just means Sam really wants to know what went down on that hunt. He's still blushing a bit too. Which, wow.

"Well I didn't think it was your hunting he was impressed with anyway," John actually does laugh this time. "Limey son of a bitch called you 'the pretty one' - to my frigging face." He shakes his head as he makes his way to the driver's door of his truck.

"Oh," is all Dean says. "Right." He is seriously blushing now. His ears are red. His cheeks are even flushed. Sam hasn't seen him this embarrassed in years. It's kind of hilarious.

John gives his son an appraising look. But seems to shrug it off.

Oh, shit. Sam gets it all of a sudden. And he has to admit it's kind of disappointing. Of course people said Constantine was a bastard but not that kind of bastard. Slightly less hilarious now. Sam wonders how Dean would have reacted. Would he even know what to do with himself if a guy he respected came on to him? He's almost sure that Dad wouldn't be taking it so lightly if Dean had ever punched the Hellblazer or something. So there's that. But Dean has a rule that anyone calling him pretty had damn well better be even prettier. It sounded like his usual shtick but Sam knew there was more to it.

Dad, on the other hand, never had seemed to notice or understand when older guys called Dean pretty. Didn't seem to get what it implied. Neither had Sam at the time. But Sam had been a kid.

There was that one guy, what was his name? Ken Johnson? Sam had just turned 11. So Dean must have been, what, 15 at most. And Dean really was pretty at that age. He was freaking gorgeous. Not that Sam had noticed. Nope. But those long lashes and girly features. Still blond before his hair darkened in his late teens. Freaking beautiful. Ken had certainly noticed and he would make all these comments. And Dean would get so uncomfortable. He hated that guy. "I swear to god, Sammy. If that son of a bitch lays a finger on me I'm going to shoot him." Yeah, Sam remembers that clear as a bell. And remembers how angry he was at Dad once he figured it out.

Sam figured Dad just ignored the comments because the guy was useful. But maybe he really just didn't get it? Was anyone that obtuse?

"Oi, Sammy!" Dean's thumping the top of the car to get his attention. Dad's already in the truck and starting it up. "You coming with us or what?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says. "Sorry." Dean gets in the car and starts the engine.

Sam wonders if he should say something. But by the time he's in the car Dean is smiling again. He's doing something with his phone. Actually seems pleased with himself about something. Anyway, talking about it might get too close to a serious conversation to which Dean thinks he's allergic. So Sam lets it drop. For now.

"Hey, can you put a tape on for me?" Dean asks. Tosses the phone into the dash before backing out to follow Dad.

"Yeah sure, what do you want?" Sam says. Pulls the tape box out from under his seat. He resists asking when Dean started to willingly change over from Metallica before the tape ran out. Because they'd listened to _Ride The Lightning_ three time on the way here and he was over it.

"Nazareth," Dean says with a sly smile. Like he's made some dirty joke. Which Sam doesn't get but, whatever. Nazareth it is. Pretty soon Dean's singing along to _Ship of Dreams_ and drumming on the steering wheel. Sam's just pleased he seems to have gotten over all the blushing.

**Notes:**

The Nazareth thing is an ongoing in story joke/theme. Basically it was playing when Johnny C and Dean hooked up that one time in a Louisiana bayou.

This is part of an ongoing series, I post updates (including all the content that is "too hot for ") to my tumblr:


	5. Righteous Men 2

"Dean?" Constantine sounded half asleep, half drunk, or both when he finally answered the phone.

"What do you know about the Righteous Man?" Dean's voice was shaking. He didn't really care.

"Hello to you too. I'm pretty buggered, actually. How are you?"

"Constantine..."

"Look, I know there's an apocalypse on and all, but you know its 2:00 am in the fucking morning in England, right? Where I am; and tryin' to bleeding sleep. I've got ash and sulphur so far up my nose I'm going to be shitting it for a week. Do you know how hard it is to even get to sleep like that?"

"Answer the question, John."

There was a sigh of resignation on the other end.

"Yeah…" Constantine said, he really did sound exhausted. "Yeah, I know who the Righteous Man was, Dean... I figured it out. I'm Northern, not an idiot. And, to be honest, I'm just glad it wasn't me. A'right?"

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"When? How? You didn't bother telling me you sold your soul. And what if you had? What if I had? Would it've even stopped you? Would it've helped? Though tryin' to make the King of the Crossroads eat a contract would've be a riot." He paused and snickered softly at whatever image his last statement inspired. "And you know bloody what? I did sodding warn you. Years ago. We're the righteous men, Winchester. And we're the scariest thing on this God forsaken ball."

"That wasn't a warning, that was your... you… being you! More Obi Wan crap."

"It's not my fault if you didn't listen, luv. I've got enough of my own demons. I can't be fighting yours as well. I'm not your bloody guardian angel."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Isn't it? You sure 'bout that?"

"Fuck you Constantine."

"Sorry, luv, few thousand miles too far. Even for an arse as sweet as yours."

"Thanks," Dean said dryly.

"No problem," Constantine smirked. And yes Dean could hear the smug smile return. He wanted to smile too. Because it was better than crying or screaming. But even trying just brought it all flooding back down on top of him.

"I started the friggin' apocalypse…" Dean said as soft as he could. Like whispering might make it go away. Or saying it too loud might make it true. "I just… I... fuck..." Dean trailed off. Unsure if he was able to say what he was feeling. He felt defeated. By himself.

"Happens, mate."

"That doesn't help," Dean said. Even though it kind of did. A bit.

"Sometimes you just gotta let this shit go and deal with the consequences. Trust me. You did your best, Dean. It was fucking Hell. Literally." There was a pause and a rustling sound while Constantine sat up in bed. A vague scrabbling as he looked for something. "That's all blokes like us can ever do, luv. Our best. And, you know what's worst? It ain't never gonna be good enough. It'll never be good enough. The whole bloody game is rigged from the start. It's bollocks. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing back the forces of Hell. Because damn us or bless us, we're all that's left. Broken men with righteous bleeding souls. We keep fighting because someone has to. We keep doing our best even when it isn't good enough. Because who else is dumb enough?"

"I damned the whole fucking planet, Constantine!"

"Nah... Not yet, luv. Lucy's cage is still shut. We've got this side of the pond down tight. First and last seal are set in stone. And I'm close to figuring out what that last one is. You hold your side and we'll be right as rain. The feathery wankers are even running around doing whatever it is they do. It gets worse 'afore it gets better, y'know? But you got this."

"Sure." Even Dean could hear how dead his voice sounded. Corpse cold; like his soul. And when did a Winchester get that damn poetic?

"Do you need me to get a flight, lad?" The exorcist sounded resigned, a little annoyed, but he meant it. If Dean asked him he really would come to the US first flight he could get. And god, in that moment, Dean wanted to say yes. He wanted to curl up in a ball and beg someone else to come and save the world.

"No. No… you hold on to Manchester, man. We've got this. We've got to right?"

"Yeah… right… Can I go back to sleep now? Pep talks ain't really my forte."

"I thought you said evil never sleeps."

"Yeah true. But I do." Constantine yawned but Dean could hear the cigarette begin lit. He was giving in for now.

"Alastair's dead," Dean said.

"The Grand Torturer? Bloody well done, mate. Was it you, or…"

"No. It was Sammy… with… you know"

"Yeah, I do. Better 'n most." He laughed. Cold and short. Not his usual self-satisfied full body thing. "Still, that must've felt good?" Dean hadn't told the Hellblazer about his tour downstairs. But he must have guessed. He knew Hell better than some demons. He always put stuff together eventually.

Dean laughed too. Because what else was he meant to do. It was too loud and too manic. This was all so far off the reservation. He was totally friggin' lost.

If there was anyone who should be able to understand the things Dean had done today it was Constantine. But he still couldn't really bring himself to talk about it. Not all of it. Not the knives and the salt. Not Alistair. He was glad John couldn't see him - couldn't look in his soul and see demon black curled around it.

"They said it has to be me?" Dean said instead. "Me… who stops it… because I… because…"

"Yeah, sounds 'bout right," Constantine interrupted. "These things like a bit o' symmetry. The big wanker in the sky is particular fond of narrative equilibrium. So I hear." Saving Dean from admitting it again. Admitting he broke. And broke the worlds with him.

"Is it… is there another way?" And god Dean sounded fucking broken. He was going to cry if he didn't get it together soon. Fuck. At least the angel was gone. He didn't know why that was important but it was. If he lost it he didn't want Castiel there to see it. Not again.

"I don't know. I'm not actually omniscient, just so as we're clear."

"Don't fucking start…" That felt better. Anger was easier. Anger he could deal with.

"I'm not. It's just... it's 2:00 am and I was out all night holding down a sodding hell gate. Yeah?"

There was a pause where Dean should probably have said sorry. Sorry for calling. Sorry for this conversation. Sorry for shouting. Sorry for starting the apocalypse. Sorry for being Dean friggin' Winchester. But instead they both fell silent. Maybe the apology was implied?

"I'm looking into it," Constantine said at last. "I've got a… sorta connection… with a bunch of old bible translations, prophesies, old gospels and that sorta rubbish. I am looking into it. It's Armageddon! Of course I'm looking into it."

"Yeah. I know. I'm just… frigging over it. It's not… I can't do this."

"Course you can. You don't got a choice, Winchester. Men like us don't get to choose. We keep trying. We keep failing. We keep picking up the pieces. It's what we do."

"I'm not the fucking Hellblazer, John" Dean spat the word now. He'd worshiped that stupid nickname once. That seemed like a lifetime ago. And in Hell years it had been.

"That's what I used to say..."

**Notes:**

Constantine's "sorta connection" with all the bibles can be read as being Aziraphale from Good Omens if you like. I'm not sure if I'll run with that connection or not at this point though. We'll see...


	6. This Devil's Ice Kiss

Lucifer smells like angel. All metallic, ozone and petrichor, liquid sugar and electric sting. It almost covers the sickly sweet smell of his vessel rotting from the inside out. Almost.

John braces himself on the desk in front of him. Arms taut and body ready for action. He is John Constantine and he will not shake in front of the Devil. He keeps his back to the fallen angel even though he felt him arrive in the little studio flat seconds ago. Keeps looking out the window, eyes trained on the demons in the street below. Four of the smoky twisted bastards. At least. Those are just the ones that Luci has on display. The ones he's letting him see.

Picked them out special. Knowing John could see their true forms. He can tell. They all match. Big horns. Old enough to have gone unreservedly demonic. Big spiral horns and skull faces. Young enough to have seen Alistair's ministrations though. He can tell that too. It's the way they wear their tattered rotten flesh like a badge of honour. Superimposed on the unblemished skin of their human hosts. Bone deep tattered lines of pain so fearsome they took it back and made it their own. Made it their new selves.

"I miss your dreams, John," the Devil says, at last. Sick of being ignored. Breath cold on the back of Constantine's bare neck. "It's been years, decades even. Why don't you come to visit me anymore?"

He closes his eyes when the Devil trails an icy hand up his naked arm. But he doesn't flinch. There's that. Bites his tongue before he answers. He really should get in the habit of getting dressed the moment he's out of the shower. You never know when a fallen angel might pop in for a visit after all. At least he has trousers on. Could have been worse.

"Been busy, luv. You know how it goes," John says. Tries for flippant. Still keeps his eyes out the window. Can't look at Luci. Not yet. Just a few more breaths.

They both know his 'visits' stopped because he grew up. Got control. Enough control to keep away from the Pit - in his dreams at least. Enough control to resist the pull of the Nergal blood in his veins and the hellfire in his soul. Got away from his dad. Stopped running to Satan when the world hurt. Stopped hiding and started fighting. He isn't that scared and scarred little boy anymore. And he refuses to start shaking.

But he also knows he never closed the door. Probably never will. All that hellfire has to come from somewhere. And Lucifer knows that too. Damned from birth. So what's the point?

"Didn't you miss me, Johnny?" the Devil whispers, frozen breath across his ear. And he does shiver then. Can't help it. The physical cold and the biting truth of it getting right into his bones. Yes. Yes he missed it. Missed him. Because he's John Constantine and he's just that fucked up.

"Not bloody likely, mate," he lies. Takes a deep breath but it doesn't help. Just fills his lungs with angelic influence. It scratches and cuts worse than cigar smoke – like drowning in crystal sands and sin.

Lucifer laughs. And John can hear it. Both the vessel and the archangel. One human and rough. One pure light and fear of God. He relents and turns around to face the Devil. Has enough control over himself now. He hopes. And he's sick of watching demons wander around Brixton like they belong there.

This close he can see Morningstar shine blue in the man's eyes. Taste the bitter edge of decay and the sweet spice of angel in the air. Feel the burning cold of Lucifer's grace on his skin. Make out every suppurating sore on the once human flesh. Falling apart quicker than even an archangel can heal it.

"You know you don't have to wear that with me," Constantine says. He waves vaguely at the rotten husk of a man the Devil is parading about in. He was handsome once. Now he's blistered and burning out. Sometimes heaven's light burns hotter than hell's fire. And this guy is full of both. He never had a chance.

But god, why did he say that? The real thing - without the shell around it - would be mighty. It would be beautiful. Wings and grace and glory. But damn who knows, it might look like Sam Winchester. It might just look like a less liquefied version of this man in front of him. It might look like him. Would it be worth the risk?

"Why? You don't like having mortal flesh between us, Johnny?" Lucifer purrs, and places a cold hand on John's belt and pulls him forward. Even closer. They're less than an inch apart now. And when their eyes meet Lucifer asks, "Is that an offer, John Constantine? Want me to slip into someone more comfortable? You're not a boy but you could still be King?"

On the outside the Hellblazer laughs at the Devil. Looks him in the eye and laughs. Just like the legends and lies they tell about him.

But inside John bites down hard on mortal fear. This isn't the fear of the dark that lives in every human soul. This is the fear of the light. And it's so much worse. The darkness can only devour you. Light can burn the flesh from your bones. Light can rip you open and bleed into your soul. The thing in the dark will eat your flesh. But the sun will consume you, body and soul, dissolve you into atoms. The light can show you what you really are then rip it from you.

There's a difference between death and destruction. And it is the latter that Lucifer offers – white light obliteration. Hot and cold annihilation. A pure and endless ending. And there is very little that John Constantine fears more than that.

"You know, I went to a parallel universe once," John says conversationally, "where no one bothered locking you up in a cage. I was still a sod but you were a lot nicer. Pretty too. Ran a wine bar in LA! Played the piano. Can you imagine?"

"I don't have to, John." And it's a warning. Don't forget just how powerful I am, Johnny. Don't forget whose burning anger fuels all that hellfire you like to throw around. Don't you dare forget me.

John swallows.

Lucifer's wings flare out in an indolently show of raging power. All six of them. Heaven's fallen glory. They fill the room. Blue-white and iridescent silver. Achingly, mind-bendingly beautiful. The walls start to ice over too. And isn't that the bloody kicker. That's going to melt isn't it. This place is damp enough without Satan coming along and adding to the mould problem.

"So, you just came here 'cause you miss me? Or did you have a reason? I don't need piano lessons."

"Oh, there's a lesson to be learned. Take the word of a fallen angel." Lucifer says. Almost sings it. He's smirking.

Actually that's familiar. It is a song isn't it? John knows it from somewhere. He frowns. It reminds him of something… It's a Nazareth quote. Murky heat and sweat slick leather. Nazareth. Dean Winchester… that can't be a coincidence. The Devil deals in temptation, damnation, and depravity – but not coincidences.

John looks back up sharply. And Satan smiles.

Knows he got it. Knows everything it implies. About him. About them. How he can't hide. How he never really got away. Never could shut that damn door in his soul.

"You could save the kid, John," Lucifer says. "The big sad one? The little brother." He runs a freezing blistered finger across John's cheek. Leaves a trail of ice on his skin. "Say yes. Take his place. Isn't that what you like to do? Isn't that your thing? Trying to make up for what you are. What you'll always be. Martyred on your own self-destruction? I'm the ultimate self-destruction, Johnny."

John shakes his head. No. Digs his hand into the desk behind him. Grounds himself in the pain as it cuts into his palm.

"You can have conditions. I could spare them. Every pretty girl and boy you secretly care about. There aren't that many, after all. Gemma... and your sister maybe? Chas Chandler. The Winchesters. Epiphany and Ann-marie. Gary. Anyone else that takes your fancy. That disgusting walking tree? We'll rule the world your way, Johnny boy. Fiddles of gold all 'round. Piano bars? I'd give you the world, as an aside, but that's not what you want. I've seen you without your skin on John. I know what you want. What you really want. And I can give it to you. For one little loan. You've lent yourself out for less..."

He would take a step back but there's no further back to go. Constantine spat in Azazel's face once. And kicked Hastur in the bollocks. Stole the Nergal's smokes. But this isn't any Duke of Hell. Not any old fallen angel. This is Lucifer. God's second and most brilliant creation. There's only so far a bloke can get with a bit of judicious treachery and an arse load of sarcasm, confidence, and spite. With the 'seal of perfection' that particular hand will probably just get you minced into your component atoms. John knows when he's outclassed. But he also hates being backed into a corner. Especially literally. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He kisses the Devil. He's the Hellblazer, right? It was probably inevitable. Counter-culture come to life. God's a capricious and voyeuristic fucker like that.

Lucifer tastes like grace and torment. Sickly sweet and blissfully bitter. Dead flesh held together with nothing but the will of an archangel and energy bled from tarnished souls. Tastes like eternal punishment, and blood fury, and cold comfort. And he kisses like a penance. Constantine pushes in, pushes his advantage. And in the confusion the archangel gives ground. Steps back following the kiss.

Shit. He lets Constantine guide them. Pushing them both backward until Lucifer's back hits the wall. The wings go through it. John thinks his blood is going to freeze and his skin is already hot, almost burning.

"Luci?" John mutters into the dead skin of the vessel's neck. Lucifer looks at him like he's never seen him before. And for a moment John can see the potential for that pretty piano player somewhere deep in there. The part of the Devil that want's to be wanted. The part with the daddy issues and the tailored suits. But Luci still thinks he's won now. John can see that in those bright blue eyes too. In the grace the swirls there. Lucifer thinks this is what comes before the 'yes.'

"Yes, Johnny?" the Devil answers, smug and ophiomorphous. He always was a sanctimonious twit.

"Piss off!" John says.

He moves fast. Knows the advantage won't last long. Shouldn't have said anything but seems he's a sanctimonious twit too. He slams his hand into the hidden sigil on the wall behind them. Sliced open on the desk's edge the blood seeps through the thin wallpaper to meet its counterpart below. Binds the spell. He feels the magic click into place. Closes his eyes when the archangel is blown back to Hell in a visceral flash of blinding glory, vessel and all. It won't last long. But it'll have to be long enough.

Fuck. That was close. Too close. Time for a new tattoo. And a new flat too probably.

He is so sick of the sodding devil and the sodding apocalypse. He considers calling the Winchesters and yelling at them. He decides to just get drunk instead. It'll be more effective. At least he can pretend the whisky is listening to him.

**Notes:**

The piano bar is called Lux and is a reference to and Lucifer Morningstar from Vertigo continuity. In Hellblazer Satan, or the King of Hell, is a demon called The First (who I may merge with Lilith for this 'verse) because the fallen angel Lucifer gave up Hell during Sandman and later his own eponymous series. Anyway, the point is the parallel universe was the Vertigo 'Verse.

This is part of a series, starting with Of Hunters and Hellblazers.  
>This one is told from John Constantine's POV - so it's a lot more wordy and descriptive. I've also allowed my British spelling and affectations to reign. Hope it works.<p> 


	7. Righteous Men 3

Dean didn't recognize the number and whoever it was wasn't programmed into Sam's cell. But they didn't know that many people outside the US. And only one who would be calling them less than an hour after the apocalypse was averted. He could guess.

"Constantine?" he answered.

"Dean? Thank fuck, you're alive. Abby just called. She said Alec felt something. Did you do it? Is it over?"

"Yeah. I think so." Fuck. Dean didn't want to celebrate this. It didn't feel like a win. Not at this cost.

"How," it wasn't even really a question. Constantine must have heard the cold loss in Dean's voice and mirrored it now. He knew it must have been bad. Hadn't he been the one who said there was always a cost? That Heaven and Hell would take everything you had and then bleed out just a little more.

"Blood, sweat and souls, right," Dean said. Not a real answer. But close enough.

"Damn. How ma… who?"

"Adam, Mike took Adam. And shit that's a whole other story…" he didn't want to say it. But maybe he had to? Maybe saying it would help? "And… and Sammy." There he said it. Dean choked back on tears he thought he'd already shed. "He... He fucking jumped. He took Lucifer with him. He took both of the winged douchebags - all the way down. Bottom of the goddamned Pit. It was- Fuck it was heroic. Literally. You know?"

"Yeah... I can imagine. He..." John paused. Trying to find the words - words that didn't exist. At least not in any language that could speak across 4,000 miles of ocean. "I'm sorry," he said instead. "It's- that's a terrible price, luv. But he saved the world. You gotta know…"

"Yeah, yeah, price of playing. Bad things. Good fight. I remember."

"There's going to be a vacuum. Heaven. Hell. It's gonna get messy..."

"No."

"What?"

"I'm out. I don't care how messy it gets." It was probably a lie. But... "I promised Sammy. I promised I'd get out. There's a girl. And a kid… in Michigan. I'm out. I haven't got anything else left to give, John."

"Picket fence and apple pie? You sure you got that in you?" Constantine asked. Smug bastard.

"I promised."

"Yeah…" There was a long pause. "Put salt in the paint," John said at last.

It was Dean's turn to say "What?"

"Salt. A saturated solution of salt. And cold iron and silver shavings too. In the paint. On yer windows. And the picket fence too. Oh, and plant some thyme and rosemary on the fence line. Hensbane too if'n you can find it."

"That's your advice? I tell you my brother threw himself into Hell and I'm getting out of the life and you tell me about plants? And paint?"

"That's what I got, luv. Getting out never really worked too well for me." He sounded just as broken as Dean felt. "That darkness has her hooks in me deep. Tends to drag me back no matter how hard or far I run."

"You don't think I can do it?"

"Honest? I dunno. Gotta be worth a shot, though. Right? And if anyone can make it work through sheer force of will it's Dean bloody Winchester."

"Yeah?" God, Dean sounded like he was begging now. Begging for reassurance from someone who was even more messed up by this screwed up life than he was.

"You lads just saved the sodding world. I think that earns you a chance. Least I hope it bloody does..."

**Chapter Notes:**

Abby = Abby Arcane-Holland. Swamp Thing's wife.

Alec = Alec Holland aka Swamp Thing.

Sequel: s/10912528/1/Of-Hunters-and-Hellblazers

Tumblr:


	8. London Calling

**Summary:**

John Constantine talks to a lot of demons. He just doesn't usually leave them drunken voice mail after killing his childhood friends.

**Notes:**

Title is from _London Calling_ by The Clash.

The last section occurs a month or two before Of Hunters and Hellblazers.

Also: eternal thanks to my lovely beta Littletownflirt.

**Work Text:**

Dean has been human again for all of 15 hours when his private cell rings. He's hardly even blinked his eyes back from black and people already want shit from him.

He thinks about ignoring it but that seems too demonic. So he sits up to grab the phone and looks at the caller id. 'Hellbastard' flashes back at him. _Fuck that. Where were you three months ago, John?_ Dean throws the phone and hears it hit the wall with a crack. He regrets it immediately but can't be bothered doing anything about it.

He falls back on the bed behind him and tries not to think. Tries not to think about everything he'd been doing while his eyes were black. Tries not to think about Cas leaving… again. With the 'female' in the car. Whatever the fuck that meant.

He tries not to wonder why the Hellblazer picked this moment to get in touch. Did he know? He talks to Crowley, doesn't he? Oh fuck… would Crowley have said anything about… No. Probably not. Probably wouldn't even know enough to bother. Oh god had he said anything to _Sam_. Fuck. Damn it. He's _not_ thinking about this shit. He needs to get out of here. Out of the Bunker. Out of his own head.

He gets up and goes to the door.

"Sammy," he shouts. "You freaking win. We're going fishing."

0oOo0

It's over a week later when Dean finally sucks it up and checks the messages.

He's leaning up against the Impala outside their crappy seaside motel. Doesn't want to wake Sammy. Still isn't sleeping. Not really. It's the dreams. And the memories. And something else too. Something that feels like hot sugar in his veins. Something he wants to ignore.

There are a lot of messages considering how few people have this number. But they trail off after the first month of his demonic vacation. Mostly from Sam hoping he'll pick up with each one getting progressively more desperate than the last. He skips most of those. One from Jody, shit they need to call her. Two from Chris Argent up in Cali about something Dean's never heard of. Whatever. Sounds like he handled it in the end.

And four from John Constantine.

**Message received on August 19, 4:12am.**

"Hey mate. It's Johnny C. I got a problem in th' States that I'm not really sure I'll be… around for it right now. It's about Jay Winters. Look, is a bloody long story, right. Complicated. More complicated than usual. Just…" he sighs. "Look, I'm in Ravenscar... Don't start! It's… part of even more complicated than th' last thing, yeah? So just give us a ring here a'right? Ta."

**Message received on September 2, 11:38pm.**

"Bloody hell Winchester, learn to answer your bleeding phone. If you changed the number without telling me you're going to owe me a bunny, yeah? Look I sorted the complicated from the other month. Much as I could any road. Turns out I might be more'n a cheap flashy little crook when I have ta'…" There's laughing in the background and a gruff male voice asking something Dean can't make out. "Yeah, I'm commin'" Constantine mutters then, "Look just gimme a ring, luv. There's something up and you lads might want in on it. Don't make me come sodding looking for you, yeah?"

**Message received on September 13, 6:04am.**

"It's John. I know wha… I heard some stuff. And, well there's worse things but not many, yeah? I just… look it'd be good to know one way or t'other… or… oh fuck it…" there's a crack and the call disconnects.

The final message starts with John laughing. That same self-deprecating one that comes before a hyperbolic rant and some truly monumental binge drinking. Although from how slurred his speech is this one was actually _during _the binge. Dean should be glad he didn't pick up but instead he feels inexplicably guilty. Nothing new there then. As far as Dean can tell guilt is pretty much what not begin a demon means.

**Message received on October 4, 01:35pm.**

"Dunno what I sodding expected…" John's voice drawls down the line. "Don't know if you heard 'bout that hunger demon in n'york? Don't know if you sodding care these days but… well I sorted it. Like I always do, right mate? I did what it took. Paid the price an' all that bollocks… I don't know why I'm even… Oh _sod_ it. You're never going to hear this anyway. Last known location had a triple six area code, right mate? Fuck." There are a few heart beats of silence. Then, "Gaz was… he was a good kid once. He wasn't a v'ry good _bloke_… never got the way of it but... he just wanted so bloody much. And so bloody _hard_. But, he was a good kid. Once. We was mates, then. You know? First bloke I ever kissed. Not sure I told you that one. Not sure I told anyone, a'ctully…" Dean can hear him take a drink before he continues. And Dean just knows it was that self-pitying out-of-the-bottle kind of drinking. Knows it too well himself. "We're fucking poison, Winchester. Men like us. We either drown our own damned arses in it (well fucking done by the way) or we feed it to every last twit we come into contact with…. An… and… they just bleeding drink it down, don't they… they just… 'trust me'. Ha. '_Trust_ me!' Every _sodding_ time. And some days they trust you enough that you almost fucking trust yourself. And that's the worst. Innit? That's always the worst. Because that's when it's gonna all fall apart 'round yer ears… and…" A muffled curse, a loud thudding crash. "Fuck. You're lucky you don't see 'em W'chester. Some ghosts you can't salt and burn – they're in you… in your sodding soul… and they just don't _shut up_." He laughs again, bitter and broken, and then the message just ends.

Dean doesn't know if the Hellblazer hung up or crashed out or… what. But that's it. No more message. No more half-sobbed drunken words to cut himself on. No more clues.

Dean looks at the phone for a while. He's not sure how long. That didn't sound good. But this is the frigging _Hellblazer_. He does this shit all the time. And it was a _week_ ago. He's probably back in the UK by now. He's another one that doesn't stick around that long. Get the job done and gone. In a flash of tan trench coat. Dean almost laughs at himself over that particular thought. But Sammy's not around and every laugh has been faked since he got back. So why bother.

There's no point in calling now, right? Chas'll deal with it. Probably already has dealt with it. And Dean has enough of his own freaking problems right now. No point in inviting the Hellblazer's mess along for the ride.

0oOo0

A full four weeks after he left that last message John gets a text. He was so drunk at the time that he doesn't even remember what he said – only knows he bloody tried because of the call history. Four weeks since he sacrificed his first friend. Finished the half-arsed job that God did on the bloke's life with a shamanic knife and a bit of well-placed treachery. The John Constantine special.

He turns on the phone just outside the Mexico City airport. While he fumbles to light a fag with the other hand.

**New Message**

Today at 9:07 pm

**Dean Winchester:** _'FYI I'm alive. Again. Long story.'_

John stares at the little screen for a few moments. Huh. Fancy that. Not a demon. Well _probably_ not a demon. Maybe trying to play him. But if it was it was doing a very good job of being just as flippant and stand-offish as Winchester actually would be. Hmmm.

Well that would have to wait. Right now Annie needs him. He can deal with Dean Winchester later.

**End Notes:**

I kind of made up the timeline. I knew that Rage of Caliban happened on Halloween so I worked back from there on tight timelines but stretched out the time between the first four episodes a lot more. I just really like the idea of Sam curing Dean at the exact same time that John is sacrificing Lester. Go figure…

"A cheap flashy little crook" is a direct quote from John's dad, Thomas Constantine, describing John in Hellblazer #1

In HB "Trust me" is often what John says before betraying or generally destroying someone who trusts him.

Yes, Chris Argent is a reference to Teen Wolf. Not sure if I'll run with that or not yet. But it's there.


	9. Domesticated Punks 1

**Summary:**

Sam and Dean take Cas and John Constantine back to the Men of Letters' Bunker in preparation to summon an apparently living Gabriel. It's going to get awkward. For everyone.

**Notes:**

This story occurs after Of Hunters and Hellblazers and before Bad Ideas and Kitchen Sex.

-0o0-

Dean hadn't wanted to bring Constantine back to the Bunker at all. But it seemed Dean's opinion didn't matter. It turned out that Sam, for some unknown reason, had a stash of Gabriel's feathers there. Making it the best base of operations for their plan to summon and trap the undead archangel. And that was that. They only kept Cas's feathers in the trunk. And even then only a few, left over from the angel vs pepper incident of 2010 and that one pinion feather from Purgatory which Dean wouldn't part with.

And didn't that say something about their lives? Dean wasn't sure what it said really but because it was about his life it was probably a _bad_ something.

Constantine had the good grace to seem a bit impressed by the Bunker at least.

"So, the Men of Letters, huh?" John said it matter of fact with a slight sneer. But the way his hand trailed reverently along a bookshelf put the lie to his tone.

Even when he sounded insolent his expression gave away his genuine admiration for place. And maybe for the men in it? Dean was never sure on that one. He could never quite pin down how the Hellblazer felt about them. About him... Sometimes they fought each other harder than the demons they were meant to hunt. But then other times they kissed like it meant something... Not that it mattered. Wasn't like he cared what John Constantine thought about him. Dean shrugged off the thought.

"If I knew you lads got your act together this much I would'a called you months ago," John said.

"Just as well you didn't then," Dean snarked. Constantine just winked at him and continued exploring the bookshelves. Sam glared as if to tell Dean to cut it out. Whatever.

And that should have been it. The whole topic could have been dropped then and there. But no, Sam had to be Sam and open his big mouth.

"Why didn't you?" Sam asked. "Why didn't you get in touch? After... Jasper? We didn't even know he died."

Constantine actually looked uncomfortable and Dean allowed himself to enjoy it.

"Heard some rumours," the Hellblazer shrugged. "Wasn't sure I wanted to confirm 'em." He glanced at Dean when he spoke and there was something in those strange brown eyes that Dean really didn't want to confirm either. "Some questions just ain't worth answerin'."

"Oh," Sam said. And then, because sometimes even Sam knows when to let something drop, "So, I was wondering about your adjustment to the sigil on the West point of the summoning circle?" Thank you Sammy.

Dean frowned at the exorcist's back where he bent over the table to talk Sammy through the sigil. What would Constantine have done if they had met up a few months ago? You couldn't exorcise a Knight of Hell. Not from his own body. Hell, Dean hadn't even been able to smoke out really. But exorcisms had never been all the Hellblazer had up his sleeves.

A small demon black part of Dean, the part he had been hiding from for months, wondered about that. Wondered if Dean Winchester could have been the demon to finally take down the Hellblazer. Sure Constantine had defeated the Nergal, literally kicked Hastur in the balls and faced down Azazel more than once. But it was Dean who had killed Azazel. Even Crowley was scared of Constantine. But Crowley had been scared of Dean too. Really scared. And the Mark on his arm pulsed hot at that memory.

Dean startled when Castiel placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Dean?" Cas rumbled, "are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean said gruffly. "Guy just rubs me the wrong way is all."

He didn't bother adding that the real problem was when the guy rubbed him just the right way too.


	10. Domesticated Punks 2

So Dean tried to take Constantine's advice and avoided asking uncomfortable question at all. Choosing to snipe and needle at the older man instead. Falling back into a familiar and slightly antagonistic form of flirtation. He'd been less aggressive about it with Sammy in the room, of course. Kept more physical distance. Didn't touch. And the exorcist had picked up on that. Managing to both respect his reticence around Sam and still use it to his advantage.

He wasn't being as obvious about moving into Dean's physical space as he normally would. But he still managed to do it. Bending over the hunter to get a book. Brushing up on his way through a door. Leaning against the same wall just a little too close. Body hot temptation. Smirking the whole time. Angling his chair just a little closer than was normal. Holding eye contact for just a little too long. Innuendos dropped into every second sentence. Little things slowly adding up until Dean felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

And he stretched and shifted way more often that could possibly be necessary. Watching Dean's eyes follow his movement and drag across his throat. Flinging himself into chairs, legs and arms all over the place. Constantly fidgeting. Drawing attention to his hands. And Dean couldn't help staring. Then the demonologist would smirk some more. Or raise an eyebrow and stare back if Dean glared at him. Acting like he wasn't doing anything wrong by frigging flaunting himself.

Oh and the smoking. In the Bunker. In the library! They were legacies damn it. They shouldn't be letting some dude waltz around damaging one of the most extensive collections of occult lore in the world with his stupid habits. Forcing Dean to watch his lips and fingers as he practically caressed each cigarette – he was freaking obscene with the damn things.

Dean had walked into the library with the last of his stuff from the car to find Constantine there too. Going over the index system or something with Sammy. And already smoking. In the library. God, could he get any more obnoxious.

"Out!" Dean had said, pointing to the door behind him. "Outside right now."

"Oh hell, this isn't going to be like the sodding car is it?" Constantine had asked. And it sounded like a normal complaint but he winked when he said it. Dean swallowed.

"It is exactly like the 'sodding' car, Constantine."

Oops. Had Dean just implied he was going to ride the Hellblazer half way to heaven? Yep. That was it exactly. Because then Constantine was grinning at him like someone handed him a fucking trophy. Damn it. That was gonna feel…

"I said he could," Sam said, interrupting Dean's spiraling thoughts.

"In the frigging library, Sam?"

"There are ashtrays everywhere, Dean. The Men of Letters obviously smoked in here all the time. John's only here for a few days. I don't think it'll make that much of a difference."

Dean grabbed Sam's arm pulling him aside a few steps and ignoring the exorcist.

"Since when are you John Constantine's biggest fucking fan?" Dean hissed.

"Since when aren't you?" Sam whispered back harshly.

"That isn't what I mean," Dean said, flustered. "You're acting like we owe him something. And trust me you do not want to owe that son of a bitch anything." He didn't really care if Constantine could hear them. It wasn't anything he hadn't said to the dude's face after all.

"God Dean we do owe him."

"Since fucking when?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe since he went to Hell and back for you?" Sam raised his voice. There was no way the Hellblazer didn't hear that one.

Dean blinked at Sam for a few moments before he turned on Constantine.

"He what," Dean said. Low and menacing. He was asking Sam but he was glaring at the smoke wreathed mage. The guy was stock still, cigarette half way to his lips. Eyes on Dean. Waiting for the reaction. Dean could feel his own heart beat pick up.

Dean knew what that meant. He wasn't sure what the cost would have been but he knew it was always high. Too high. Not to mention the sheer danger associated with the demonologist going to Hell. Constantine was at the top of even more demonic hit lists than the Winchesters. And Hell was… well it was Hell. It was their domain. They were so much more powerful there.

He'd seen John at least three times since and they'd spoken dozens of times more especially during the Apocalypse. Even emailed now and then despite the fact Constantine was even worse with replying than Dean was. He'd never even hinted. Dean's hand unconsciously twitched towards his left shoulder. The hand print, scars long healed by angelic restoration but it still showed up in the shower or if he blushed. Remembered being pressed hard into a wall, Constantine's hand mirroring the grace brand. Breathing the words 'fucking gorgeous' into Dean's flesh. Seeing whatever else it was he saw. And not a word that he'd seen anything worse. Not a hint that he'd tried. Dean's breath caught.

As usual Constantine read him like a picture book. "I didn't see anything. Didn't even do any good," John shrugged. "Couldn't get close enough..."

"Stop, I don't want to know," Dean interrupted. He didn't even realize he'd moved until he was in face to face with the Hellblazer. Crowding him against the index cabinet. And Sammy was shouting his name. Sam was scared of him. Of what he might do. And he didn't understand why it was such a big deal. But this wasn't the Mark. If Dean was honest with himself it was more fear than anger. More protective, more lust than blood lust.

Dean had come close to punching Constantine once before and those brown eyes held the same wary confidence they had then. He didn't really think Dean was going to attack him but knew just how much he could take if he did.

"You don't owe me anything," Dean said. Controlling his voice as best he could. And he knew that inversion would confuse the crap out of Sam even more. Because he didn't know about Louisiana. Hadn't been privy to half a dozen late night conversations. Swamp light promises, unspoken lies and blood sweetened words. But it didn't matter. This was more important. No human should have braved Hell for Dean Winchester. Most days he wasn't even sure an angel should have either.

"Never thought I did, luv."

Dean knew it was a lie. But he also knew it was the best either of them would get, or give. And he wasn't ready to deal with this. Yet another guilty painful debt. Fuck it. HE didn't need to fight this one today. So close he could feel Constantine breathing. Felt the old magnetic pull of the other man's body. Smell of smoke and sandalwood.

"Right," Dean said. Pushing down hard on dark emotions and urges. He surprised all of them again by prying the cigarette out of Constantine's hand. "Good."

Dean inhaled long and slow without dropping eye contact. Blew a smoke ring, just the way Constantine taught him. Watched the smirk come back in full force then winked at the Hellblazer before he turned to grab his bag and walk out of the room.

"Dean?" Sam sounded strangled by shock.

"If he's allowed then so am I," Dean threw back over his shoulder. It was a comfortingly familiar justification.


	11. Domesticated Punks 3

Dean could have dealt with all of the flirting - with him. He was used to it. And ultimately he kind of knew he was going to give in. But then the limey bastard started switching it up by flirting with Cas as well. Flirting with Castiel; an angel of the Lord. Before turning his attentions back on Dean – presumably when he got bored of having his overtly sexual everything ignored or misunderstood by the angel. Dean was pretty sure he was either going to kill the guy or die of sexual frustration.

At some point Constantine found a reason to lean over Cas and whisper in his ear. Kept his eyes on Dean the whole time, though. And Cas smiled like a goddamn sun. And it burned like one too.

Dean very manfully resisted the urge to go closer. He was just curious. That was all. Perfectly normal. His mind did flash to an image of trench coats on the floor. Damn it. But he wasn't letting Constantine's goading flirtation affect him. Nope. Not at all. Cas was a frigging angel. Dean did not need that shit on his conscience. His ledger was bleeding enough red ink as it was.

He just wanted to know what the Hellblazer had to say to an angel. That was all. Just curiosity. Why did he need to whisper things to someone else's angel, anyway? Especially to Dean's angel. Shit, did he just think that? Damn it. He didn't mean it like that.

Just that Constantine apparently had his own crazy angel following him around. A Grigori, Cas had said, whatever that was. An angel Dean had never even seen let alone pawed all over… Christ. He had a problem. And he wasn't sure if the problem was Constantine or Cas. Maybe both. God damn it.

"You alright, man?" Sam asked. Looming over Dean suddenly.

"What?" Dean startled. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Okay…" Sam handed him a beer.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Sam said. Still sounding suspicious. But he went back to the table where he and Cas were trawling through boxes of supplies for… something. Dean didn't actually remember.

"So, Constantine," Dean said only a little louder than necessary. "How'd you manage to piss off an Archangel?" John had already evaded this question a few times. But it should do to distract Sammy from worrying for a while, at least.

"Buggered if I know," Constantine said. He dropped into the seat next to Dean. Obviously taking Dean's attention as a signal to start pestering him again. Joy. But at least he wasn't breathing all over Castiel.

"Nothing new then," Dean sniped.

"Brassed off a lot'a people for a lot'a reasons," Constantine said seeming to ignore Dean's addition to the conversation. "Don't think the ol' Trickster ever needed a reason, mind you. Either way 'm fucked." Then, leaning closer and speaking lower for Dean's ears only: "Wanna help?"

Dean caught his breath. Great. Now he had images in his head. He got up quickly to change the music. It gave him a convenient escape. It may also have been opportunity to prove that two can play that game. He frowned at the records for a bit before he found the one he wanted.

"Nazareth, Winchester? Really?" Constantine was smirking at him again. Tapping his fingers indecently against the edge of his chair. "Thought it was more of a Ramones night, me self." God that grin.

Of course Dean got the reference and fricking blushed. Like some teenage kid. He didn't remember when or how it had developed as some stupid code between them. Different songs or bands referring back to various sex acts or hook ups. But he wasn't giving that away in front of Sam and Cas. It was dangerous enough having the damn Hellblazer in the Bunker for a few days at all.

"Punk's dead," Dean snapped. Do- not- rise to the bait.

"Not this one, mate," Constantine said. "Then again, maybe I just wanna be sedated?" He said it with his most innocent tone. Blinking up at Dean like some sort of demonic kitten. And that always meant trouble.

Dean grinned anyway, understanding the kinky implications of the quote. Damn it. Sam was right there. Get it under control, Winchester.

He leaned back against the wall next to the record player to finish his drink. It kept him out of reach but still directly in front Constantine. And, more importantly, just out of Sam's line of sight. Safer. A much better tactical position. It helped that Dean knew exactly the effect watching him drink a bottle of beer could have on the Hellblazer. He'd found out hard and fast the second time they hooked up. It'd been pretty awesome.

"Classic rock is just so much tighter," Dean smirked back at the exorcist.

"Oh shots fired mate," Constantine said, smirking grin and eyes hellfire bright.

"What are you two bitching about now?" Sam said grumpily. But he didn't turn around so he missed Dean letting his drink sit on his lip just a little too long to watch Constantine choke on his own. Probably just as well.

"Just the Hellblazer's lack of taste in music Sammy," Dean said without taking his eyes off Constantine. "Nothing new."


	12. Domesticated Punks 4

Dean Winchester was drunk. In his more introspective moments he knew that wasn't unusual in itself – not these days. But tonight he was a warmer, happier, kind of drunk than he had been in months. The edges of reality had been sanded down by beer and whiskey. Smoothed off until his life wasn't quite as pointlessly sharp and painful as it had been a few hours ago.

Sam had been sent off in search of more beer. "You're the youngest, Sam. It's simple man."

Leaving him with an equally drunk John Constantine and Castiel who was still too angelic to be drunk. For some reason that was soothing as well. Knowing that Cas was still angel enough to blow open doors, smite demons, and needed to drink an entire liquor store before he got drunk. It made up for the growing number of human gestures, the occasional need for sleep, and a string of other little terrifying things. All those biting memories of his broken attempts at humanity; his stolen grace slowly burning him back there. Damn. That was depressing.

Dean shook himself and blinked off the thought. Focus on the problem at hand. The problem that was John Constantine. Though that almost went without thinking. Because Constantine and problem were basically synonymous. Dean smirked at his own internal joke and finally brought his attention back to the table. Just in time to notice that John was most definitely hitting on Dean's angel… the angel. Not Dean's angel. Why did he keep thinking that? Just not Constantine's angel. Whatever. Dean knew what he meant.

"So, Thursday, you think big brother's gonna try smite ja for helpin' the dirty monkeys get one over on 'em?" Constantine drawled.

He was leaning back in his chair, one arm on the back of it, hand almost brushing Dean's shoulder, a predatory open stance. Wide flirtatious smile. Waving that damn cigarette around to punctuate every second word. He might be angled towards Dean, close enough to share body heat, but all his aggressively sexual energy was focused at the opposite side of the table – at Cas. Dean rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

"I do not think Gabriel would harm me. Not for simply talking to him." Cas said. Precise. Slightly mocking (that was still new). Totally oblivious. Ha, take that Hellblazer.

"Last night on earth, really Constantine?" Dean said. "On an angel? I thought you had more up your sleeve than that."

"Dunno, luv," the demonologist smirked. "Seemed to work a right treat for you, if I recall."

Dean felt himself flush. Because, yeah, it had worked pretty well even if Constantine had known it was a line. He could still remember the hot slide of the other man's skin on his back. Could almost taste that freaky lace comforter he'd been biting down on. The smell of New Orleans, ash and Constantine. Louisiana bourbon and smoke. Dean masked his distraction with his drink.

"Yeah?" Dean said, "So we're swapping playbooks? Suppose that leaves me with my best Cheshire Cat and some Ramones' quotes?"

"You know me, mate," Constantine laughed. "Whatever works."

Dean scowled and clamped down on the first three things that he wanted to say. All of which were way too filthy for mixed company.

Cas was watching them both carefully but not trying to participate like he normally did. Dean wondered, not for the first time, just how much more Cas actually got these days. After his fiction and media download from Metatron. Did it change the way the angel saw humanity? Saw him? How much did he understand but chose to ignore? The angel was looking at them with that 'you are a puzzle and I will solve you' expression. Dean hated that expression. And maybe loved it a bit too. Fuck. Dean was staring back at Cas, yet again. And the Hellblazer was chuckling.

Constantine leaned over to whisper, "Don't think I'm the one with an angel problem, luv." Dean glared at him.

"I don't hit on Manny," Dean said. Part distraction part complaint.

"Only 'cause you can't see the prick. An' anyway he don't like 'em Righteous."

Luckily Sam reappeared with more beer saving Dean from Constantine's commentary and the question he could see forming on Cas's lips.

"Sammy thank god," Dean said. Taking his fresh beer eagerly. Sam just gave him a bemused look.

"Sorry if you got caught up in their dick measuring contest, Cas," Sam said as he distributed the rest of the drinks. Took a seat between Dean and Cas because the space he had previously occupied as Winchester vs Constantine mediator had closed in his absence.

"I am honestly unsure," Cas said. Frowning at Dean again.

"Don't worry, mate," Constantine said. "We both know who'd win that 'un." Smug bastard. Dean could feel his cheeks heat up.

"Blow me, Constantine," he snapped. Covered his grin with his drink.

"Sure thing, luv."

Dean choked.

"So," Sam said quickly. Changing the subject. Jumping to Dean's defense. Unknowingly protecting himself from Dean making a comment about too much teeth. "You're really not fazed about facing down an archangel?"

"I snogged the Devil, mate. I can manage his smarmy git of a kid brother any day o' the week."

"I think we've established we can all deal with the artist-formerly-known-as-Loki," Dean said. "No one's last night on earth." It only came out a little grouchy.

"Hang on, back up," Sam said. Ignoring Dean. People were doing that a lot tonight. "You did what? With Lucifer?" Sam looked like he might throw up.

"It was nothing," Constantine said with a shrug. "One of the first secrets of magic... is distraction."

He reached across Dean and pulled an old coin out of the air behind Sam's ear with a flourish. Flicked his wrist, threw it in the air and it disappeared again. Sam was drunk enough to laugh. Dean would have too actually. If the other hand hadn't made its way to the back of Dean's neck. A soft, calming caress at odds with the coy parlor trick that masked it. Making Dean flush deeper and sink back unwillingly into the contact. Sam's laugh battered away at the tension sneaking up on them all. Put a crack in it but didn't quite break it.

"New King's a better kisser, anyway, in my considered opinion," Constantine continued, the turn in conversation itself a distraction. "He's had a lot more practice, mind." He dropped back into his own chair. Releasing Dean and letting him breathe again. Leaving a bitter tingling trace of human contact on Dean's skin. "But I suppose Crowely's not the Devil, is he? He just don't got it in 'em. No matter how much he's gagging for it... He's basically the big guy's bureaucratic dunny man."

"Is there anything we've ever met that hasn't had its tongue down your throat?" Dean snapped. He knew it wasn't the right conversational path to follow, but couldn't help it. He was grateful for pulling Sam away from thoughts of Lucifer. He really was. But it just slipped out. A verbal repost. Defensive and natural, like the holds, body blocks and knife defenses trained into him since he was 6 years old. Muscle memory rather than choice.

"Your angel," Constantine replied, whip quick. "Oh an' Al… um Alec. You've met Alec Holland. Though he did possess me that one time… stuck me tongue down someone else's throat - don't know if that counts?"

"When was that?" Sam said looking at Dean. He sounded genuinely disappointed and confused. Damn it. Dean couldn't deal with the disappointed voice tonight. Just about anything else but disappointed; it cut right to the part of him that practically raised Sammy. The big brother whose whole identity was built on protecting Sammy. He could almost hear John Winchester's ghost, "If you won't do it for yourself or for me, do it for Sammy. You're a role model, Dean... Act like one."

"I don't tell you everything Sam." It was too sharp. Not an answer. Not even a real deflection.

"Evidently not…"

"Alec Holland, as in…" Cas re-entered the conversation, saving Dean yet again. He sounded genuinely impressed though. Of course he did. Stupid Hellblazer.

"Yep, Alec Holland. Elemental, force of nature incarnate. Keeper of The Green. That's the bloke. Nice chap once you get past… everythin' about him. Izizop mir izharaji." The last words were spoken in a freaky thrumming accent that made Dean's skin crawl.

Cas blinked. Surprised. "You speak Enochian?"

"Enough- when I need it," Constantine managed to both shrug it off and look smug at the same time. How is that even humanly possible? It's probably the demon blood.

"Great vessel… planted or impregnated with... something?" Sam tried to translate. Of course he did. See Winchesters can speak weird ass angel languages too.

"Planted with plants… sort'a," John answered. Lighting another cigarette watching Cas. For a correction maybe? "It's a hard one to translate. Plant o' plants basically." Another shrug, as much with the face as the body.

Cas's face did the bunch of tiny little motions that added up to agreement. Dean didn't even try to resist the fond smile this time. Why bother. Constantine was going to notice and torture him about it either way.

Constantine rattled off another long string of humming syllables. Too fast for Sam who frowned in confusion. But Cas laughed. He actually laughed, real and deep and true. And ducked his head in a gesture even Dean didn't recognize. Was he blushing? Flustered? Whatever the Hellblazer had said Dean both desperately wanted to know and kind of wished it never happened.

"Oh, an' Lilith," Constantine said. Snapping his fingers and snagging Dean's attention back to him. "I never touched Lilith and I know you boys know her. I've exorcized her a few times 'o course. But never snogged her."

"Hah, a) that doesn't count. She was a little girl half the time," Dean said. "And b) Sam killed Lilith so we're not impressed." Childish? Maybe. But better than the alternatives.

"Oh, yeah mate, I almost forgot – stab first ask questions never…. Look how that turned out for the world?"

"Seriously?" Sam demanded. "Do I have to send you two out back with a frigging ruler?"

Dean snatched the cigarette packed out of the air as Constantine played with it mindlessly. Masking his discomfort. He lit one then threw the little box back.

"Oi," the mage snapped but there wasn't any real heat to it. More amused surprise than anything.

Sam, on the other hand, looked scandalized.

"Since when do you smoke, Dean?" Sam said. All puffed up with accusation that just made Dean think of the chubby twelve year-old he would've done anything for. Still would, really. Except maybe have this conversation.

"Since I have to play nice with Dr Strange over there..."

"That's uncalled for," Constantine muttered. "I'm better 'in that poncey wanker."

"What?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously.

"Nothing," John put his hands up in mock surrender.

"And why did you never tell me that you met a freaking plant-person for that matter!" Sam said. Hellblazer dismissed in favor of pursuing this line of questions. Dean was starting to think this conversation was about a lot more than cigarettes. His warm buzz was fading quick.

"Look he," Dean waved dismissively in Constantine's direction, "may have helped me on a few hunts while you were at Stanford. It's not a big deal…"

"Not a big deal?" Sam was giving him that patented searching and disbelieving look he was getting way too familiar with. "Something you failed to mention in ten years, isn't a big deal?" He could feel himself being backed into a corner. Every instinct telling him to fight his way out or run.

He could sense the admission on the tip of his tongue. Alcohol loose. Could almost hear his voice framing words he still didn't have. How would Sam react? It wasn't the first time he had tried to guess. Would he care? Would he find it funny? Disgust? Disbelief? Anger… jealousy? That was the one that chilled his blood. He wasn't sure there was a way out of this particular pit.

However, yet again Cas decided to rescue a Winchester from the seemingly insurmountable hole he threw himself in.

"There is someone approaching the Bunker," Cas announced. It was a general statement, not directed at anyone in particular but it was enough. Just.

Sam took a breath. Dean slouched back in his chair. Constantine grinned. Several beats of silence. Crisis averted for tonight. Hopefully.

"Sooo... That'll be Chas- and me wee surprise!" the Hellblazer said with far too much glee.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Surprise," he said. It wasn't a question. Constantine just raised his drink in a mocking salute and winked. That couldn't be good.

"I'll get it then," Sam said with resignation when the proximity alarm went off and no one moved.

"I'll come too," Dean said, stubbing out his cigarette and starting to stand. "Cas, don't let him... corrupt you or anything while we're gone."

"I very much doubt that is going to happen, Dean," Castiel said. Dry but still possibly mocking. It was always hard to tell.

"Thursday's right, luv" Constantine added. "We'd wait for you." Grinning up at Dean, goblin bright and unreasonably seductive. Fuck this. Dean was sick of being on the back foot.

He bent back down, smooth and fast, so he could whisper in the man's ear. Ignoring Sam's curiosity and Cas's proximity. "You know what Constantine you might've made out with Satan," Dean whispered. Sin sweet and lust rough. Actually taking a leaf out of the other guy's playbook now. "But I've fucked the Hellblazer so hard he called for God- I think I win."

Dean was pulling back to follow Sam but Constantine caught him by his plaid over-shirt. From the outside it must have looked aggressive. Aggressive enough that Cas started to stand and Sam froze in the doorway, ready for action. Too aggressive even - anyone who really knew him knew he would try play dead or wheedle his way out before he went on the offensive like that.

"Nah, mate," John whispered back. "I fucked Dean Winchester so sweet he begged for more... Ask anyone, best bleeding hunter on the planet- I think you'll find I win."

Dean really did pull back then. Released before anyone tried to intervene. "Yeah?" Remember to breathe, Winchester. "You might have to prove that one."

"Anytime, mate." Another hellfire smile; still burning under Dean's skin when he left the room.


	13. Domesticated Punks 5

It was official – there was no hope. Dean had thought he would get a break when Chas finally turned up. But no. Of course not. Constantine was just as shameless around his own friends as he was around Dean's family.

Chas arrived as predicted. Of course who else would be knocking on the doors of an apparently abandoned water silo at midnight. It wasn't exactly a surprise to find the large man on their doorstep.

The surprise was what he was carrying. A small bag over one shoulder and a large pink and white animal cage dwarfed in his arms.

"Sam, Dean," Chas nodded to them both.

"Hey Chas, good to see you man," Sam said. Ignoring the fluffy sawdust dwelling problem the other giant was carrying – that was Sam ever the good host. "Come on in"

"What _is_ that?" Dean asked, because he never cared about that nonsense. But he stepped aside to allow both Chas and his burden into the Bunker.

"Zed," Chas sighed.

The brothers led their guest down into the war room where he could place the cage on a table.

Constantine, presumably bored of failing to tempt an angel into depravity, sauntered into the entrance area. Slid past Dean and managed to come just close enough to leave a grazing touch. He felt the lack of contact more than the actual movement. Suddenly aware of every inch that could have connected and didn't.

"Chas!" Constantine said patting his friend on the back. Then he practically skipped over to the cage to withdraw a small black fluffy creature. "Zed!"

"Why is he in such a good mood?" Chas asked suspiciously. His eyes were narrowed and he looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Probably well founded.

Dean shrugged. Tried to communicate 'hell if I know' and 'don't look at me' without actually having to outright lie.

"That's a guinea pig…" Sam stated. And oh god no, he seemed intrigued. The dog thing was bad enough without adding rodents to the mix. He really hoped Constantine wasn't going to sacrifice it or some other creepy magic shit. Sam might never get over it.

"Ah ah ah, don't touch. She's a _psychic_ guinea pig." Constantine held the guinea pig out of reach when Sam reached in to pet it. "You'll contaminate her resonant field."

"She's also a person," Chas pointed out in a smooth rumble.

"Oh, yeah that too," Constantine shrugged off the correction.

"A person?" Dean said. Not that this was the oddest thing that had happened lately. But he felt the need to maintain some semblance of scepticism.

"Yes," Constantine said firmly. Like he hadn't just needed a reminder about the importance of that very fact. "This is why I'm gonna give that archangel a right bollocking." The guinea pig gave an indignant squeak as she was thrust in Dean's face for emphasis.

"Right," Dean said. Giving in. Psychic guinea pig woman. Why not.

"Winchesters, this is Zed. Zed those are the Winchesters. Started and stopped the last apocalypse. Very famous." He spun around to face the doorway Cas had appear in. "And _that's_ the Winchester's angel. More pro-active, you might say, than ours. He's possessing some poor sod too so you'll be able to have a natter – you'll like that I suppose. They'll tell you it isn't as bad as demons 'cos of _destiny_. Hah. They breed people like cattle, Zed. Your precious angels. Breed us an' wear us." Zed got a little scratch to the head. Cas looked like he'd been slapped.

"How much has he had to drink?" Chas asked. Resigned to his fate as a permanent adult babysitter.

"Not drunk enough to ignore that, mate," Constantine answered for himself.

Chas walked over and prised the unfortunate Zed back from John. He produced a carrot from somewhere and fed it to her while John glared up at him.

"So we're here, when can we get her back to normal?" Chas asked.

"5:23 am on Monday morning," Constantine answered immediately.

"That's really specific," Sam said with a frown. They never bothered with the time stuff when summoning anyone and it always seemed to work.

"It's also the day after tomorrow. I didn't have to drive through the night to get here," Chas said with a sigh.

"Technically it's now Sunday so it's only tomorrow. Besides, Zed've missed me," John said. Chas did not look convinced. "And, I needed me things. Oh, and more fags, you didn't forget the smokes did you?"

"No, I didn't forget," Chas handed over the bag he had with him.

"Brilliant," Constantine said and started to rifle through the bag.

"5:23 in the morning?" Dean prompted.

"Oh, right," Constantine said gesturing with what looked like a golden angel blade. "Angels are weakest when the sun and the morning star share the sky. That's good ol' Venues to you 'n me. Lucifer was the first Guardian of the Morningstar, and everyone knows what happened to him. Then they gave it to poor old Anael and well _you_ certainly know what happened to him."

"Her," Dean corrected automatically. "Anna was a girl. I _checked_." That last bit probably didn't need to be quite so pointed.

"Same difference with angels, luv," Constantine shrugged. "Point is angels is scared of the morning star. Superstition burns when you're basically powered by 'aving arbitrary faith in your own existence. Enough of them get their knickers in a knot about something and it becomes true to all of 'em. Handy really."

"And why can't we just do it this morning?" Dean asked even though he knew he shouldn't. Rule 2 of dealing with John Constantine was never give him a willing audience - ever. (Rule 1 was never trust the son of a bitch). But as usual knowing better didn't actually stop him. At this point he wasn't sure he would ever learn his lesson.

"Same reason – belief," Constantine said. "It's Sunday. Too many people prayin' away and bleeding energy into angels and such. Too much unfocused faith. Powers 'em back up if they know how to tap it. And trust me Gabby knows how to tap it… Preparing the circle will take a while too, and Sam'll need a lambs' blood bath." Of course. Because that was normal.

"I thought you were all for cutting off unnecessary corners?" Dean said with a trace of old resentment.

"Yeah, well in this case I want Plan A to work more 'en I want to get it over with. Plan B is worse... a lot worse... also, I need a kip first."

"You know," Chas said putting the unfortunately inflicted Zed back into the animal cage. "I was going to ask if you're seriously going to leave Zed stuck as a guinea pig for another 28 hours because you want a nap. But I know you _are_ serious. So I'm not even sure why I'm talking." He shook his head. It was scarily similar to Sam doing the same thing – usually directed at Dean. Maybe heavy 'put upon head shaking' came with the giant genetics.

"Fine," Dean said. He already regretted this whole thing. No point arguing about it any further – he would just end up with a headache. "Sober up, sleep, summon the archangel, save the guinea pig. Why not!"

If the way Constantine was smirking at him was any indication he might even get laid (if they could somehow lose all the prying eyes). He'd had worse weekends.


	14. When You Touch Me Like You Touch Me

Dean wakes up with a half-naked Hellblazer in his bed. He's never had someone else sleep here - in the Bunker. Not in his bed. It was always too dangerous to bring back a random hook-up. And Crowley had him out of there and miles away from Sam before he even learned to hide the black eyes. Not that he slept _then_ anyway...

For a somnolent moment it is actually pleasant. Lost in a warm place between waking and sleeping. Constantine is blood-hot soft skin over the sort of wiry form that only comes from running for your life on a regular basis. Tucked into Dean's side one arm sprawled across the hunter's stomach. Dean can feel sleep deep breath across his shoulder. The smell of sandalwood soap, whiskey, smoke, and sex.

"Fuck."

He searches his whiskey clouded memories for the night before. Did they do anything that would give him away? Had Sammy noticed? Oh shit. Cas...

That look on his face. Like Dean getting off with another dude was the most confusing thing in the frigging world. Like this was the thing that finally made him realize what a useless person Dean Winchester really is. Violence. Gluttony. Destruction. Fine. Abandon your newly human ass when you needed him the most. Fine. Obliterate your heavenly rebellion. Fine. Turn into a frigging demon? Fine! But going gay for the Hellblazer? Nope. That was the sin that finally pushed an angel too far.

And now he was going to put two and two together. Cas could be naive but he wasn't stupid. He was going to remember everything that went down in that dingy hotel room in Rexford. When Cas was human, and broken and so freaking lost - and Dean just couldn't fucking help himself. 'It's just part of being human, Cas... fine, I'll show you...' then the real lie 'No, it doesn't mean anything, Cas. Just relax... Forget it ever happened.' But Castiel didn't forget things. He just trusted Dean to know what was best. Looks like he'd finally learn that lesson. Fuck.

"Fuck!"

"Hmmm? Give me, a sec, luv." Constantine stirs, starts peppering lazy kissed along the lines of Dean's chest.

"Do you have to do that?" Dean snaps. Scrubs his hands across his face.

The exorcist pulls back suddenly. "No?" he says. "I don't have to." Propped up on one arm, looking at Dean curiously. But Dean can see more in him now. Knows him better because so many of those dangerous and destructive habits were his as well these days. He can see the man start to shutter down. Preparing a snarky shield. Anticipating the worst. Hand on the edge of the sheets, ready to bolt if he has to. If it gets too real.

"Don't start," Dean says. Because it is easier than don't go. Or I'm sorry. Or it's not you it's me. Hah. Don't start? Don't start what? It isn't even his phrase. He learned it from the Hellblazer. But it works. It pulls them both back. Resets the conversation and he'll never know why. Maybe it's the memories tied in with it…

_Walking down a dusty Baton Rouge street in the Fall dusk. Dean arguing or bitching about something – no idea what. It was more than 11 years ago after all. And the Hellblazer turned around and snapped at him, "Don't bloody start, Winchester."_

_"Oh, I'll start something," Dean had said. It was meant to be a challenge, maybe even a threat. But Constantine's eyes had lit up and he lost track of whatever it was. Dean grabbed the guy by his lapels and kissed him. Right there in the street. In freaking _public_. Hot and heavy. Tongue to tongue. Hellblazer's hand in his hair and another on his ass, Dean's still urgently grasping canvas. No one even noticed. No one even cared._

_"I thought we were bickerin'?" Constantine had said, smirking and breathing a little harder._

_"Don't start, Constantine," Dean had said. Stealing the phrase, the smirk, and another kiss._

Dean traces a thumb across his lips, following ancient memories. Looks up at their source. He's changed, of course, and aged but slowly. Much less than Dean would have expected. If you didn't know you could assume they were the same age, maybe even that Dean was the older one of the pair. And isn't that a lovely thought.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Dean asks. Why do I keep doing this? Why do you keep coming back? Why would anyone put up with me? Are you actually stupid enough to trust Dean Winchester? Why…

"Doing what, mate?" Constantine sits up properly. They're not touching anymore but he doesn't get out of the bed either. Just starts looking for the damn Silk Cuts on the side table.

"Me." Dean rolls his eyes. But it earns him a slight smile.

"Same reason you do, luv. The sex is bloody brilliant… and-" a pause. Like he's not sure about saying the next bit. "I know you're as likely to get shredded by your own demons as eaten by mine." He shrugs it off. Like it isn't the most meaningful thing they've ever said to each other. Dean shivers. Constantine lights the cigarette and inhales.

"Door locked?" Dean asks. A precaution. He was drunk, sure. Drunk enough to drag John Constantine back to his bed. But he doesn't think he was that drunk.

Constantine glances over then nods.

"Good," Dean pushes himself into a sitting position. Leans forward, places a hand on Constantine's jaw and brushes the slightest kiss across the older man's lips. Enjoys the moment of surprise reflected back at him. He slides himself into the exorcist's lap. Takes the cigarette out of his hands. Takes a short drag before putting it out. Why is there even an ashtray in his room? He bends down into another kiss; slow and temptation smooth.

Because why not. Cas is going to tell Sam. He won't even know what he's doing. He'll just want an explanation that he knows Dean will never give. Or, worse, Cas will just leave. Won't say why. And Dean will have to scratch and claw and dig into himself like a hell-bound soul. Have to rip out his defences and explain. He's already dropped the freaking ball. If he's going to burn for this he may as well go out blazing.

He presses forward tries to bury his thoughts in sweet friction and ever more heated kisses. He's still pliant and a little open from the night before. Gasping and grasping for it. What started as an indulgent tease has turned filthy. John is kissing back with an open ferocity that cries out to something deep inside Dean. Something he normally buries but right now wants to let out. He scrabbles blind for the lube and condoms above his bed. Not wanting to break the eager smoky kiss long enough to actually use his eyes. Doesn't want to draw back. Doesn't want to give up a second of contact.

In this moment, with the door locked and the demonologist's hands on his hips, he can pretend. Pretend that reality isn't waiting. Hope and pretend that every dirty little secret will stay buried in a warm blanket of self-loathing. It won't last. But if he holds on tight, digs his fingertips into John's skin, maybe he can hold it all back. Just a little longer.

And of course that is the exact moment the door rattles. Dean bites back a whimper as they both still. Trying not to make a sound. Whoever it is knocks. Shit.

"Dean?" it's Sam. Fuck. "Are you awake?"

"Mmmmhm?" Dean says noncommittally.

"Have you seen John? Chas says he's not in his room."

"Nope," Dean says. Glares down at Constantine who is grinning like this is the funniest thing since Monty Python. "Have you… um… tired the gun range?"

John raises an eyebrow and looks at him like he's crazy. Dean shrugs. Then he can feel Constantine start to shake. He's laughing. Dean clamps a hand over the Hellblazer's mouth and glowers a warning. That just makes him shudder with even more repressed laughter. And god damn it that actually feels kinda good. Fuck.

"Um, no… should we?"

"I dunno, Sam. I'm not the dude's keeper."

Another smug eyebrow. A glance at where Dean's thighs have him pretty much trapped. Dean makes a face that is meant to communicate 'shut the fuck up' and 'play along or I won't let you fuck me.'

It doesn't work. Because the son of a bitch bucks up under him. Causing their bodies to slide together, digs his hands into Dean's hips and causes him to gasp. Audibly. Damn it.

"Dean?" Sam says and his voice has a sharp warning to it. Fuck.

"Just gimmie a…" Dean tries to say but then the Hellblazer bites his palm, gets free enough to suck Dean's thumb into his mouth. Holds eye contact (and Dean is pretty sure that's his move). "um... a minute Sammy." Lifts a hand off Dean's hip and slides lower. Fucking fuck.

"Oh my god, Dean, you're not… "

"Why else would the door be locked Sam," Dean snaps because, seriously. If he's figured it out then he can just fuck off. Ten more minutes at least before the inevitable meltdown. Is that really so much to ask?

"Fine. The rest of us will go find John while you enjoy your time with Busty Asian Beauties," Sam snaps back. "Glad you've got your priorities straight Dean."

And god Dean could die from relief if it wasn't for the fact that his body is ramping up for a totally different kind. They're both shaking with inaudibly laughter this time and yes that feels really good too.

"Ok…" Dean manages to say.

"Oh, gross!" Sam says.

"You have… no idea." No freaking idea…

Dean starts to freak out a bit himself. But then he's distracted. Looks down and sees that Constantine has found the lube and condoms he was searching for before. The older man smirks up at him with a question in his eyes. And whatever Dean was trying to think slips away. Overridden as a litany of oh, and fuck, and yes, and please.

Dean kisses him again before answering. Sinks back down into the hot tension of this moment. It won't last. He can feel the threads unravelling around him already. But for right now, he's going to ignore it.

"Fuck," half-whisper, half gasp.

"That's the idea, luv." Constantine winks up at him - saccharine with promise and temptation. And, _yeah_, Dean can totally put off the world just a little longer for that hellfire grin.

**Notes:**

The title is from the Nazareth song _You're the Violin_.

This was meant to be the angsty, cynical and blasphemous scene... but this had to happen too. So that's up next instead. Sorry!

This occurs after _Domesticated Punks_ and _Bad Ideas and Kitchen Sex _(MA - not on FF).


	15. Confessing to the Endless Sin 1

Dean Winchester is a hell-fucked closet case with a hero complex and a muscle car. Constantine knows he shouldn't bother – no matter how good the sex is. Knows he should know better. Self-preservation would suggest running all the way back to Hell. But John also knows himself well enough to realise he's always had a thing for the broken ones. It's narcissism o' course. Sees himself reflected back and that's what draws him in. Snags on to him in dark and dirty places and won't let go.

And if anyone was a broken, bloodied, reflection of John Constantine it is Dean Winchester.

Just as much of a mess and fighting the same endless pointless war - with the same nil results. He's just as much of a hell-forged, battle scared, excuse for a man. Just as many demons on his tail and ghosts in his head. Not the least of which is daddy's voice screaming in the back of every action. Leaving just as many tragedies in their wakes. But Dean wears it better somehow. He's still a hero. Even when his body count is, by some dark miracle, higher. He still wants to be a hero. 'Saving people. Hunting things.' Tries to hold on to the moral compass that John threw in the drink decades ago.

When push comes to shove there's no one person John would damn himself for. Nothing and no one he wouldn't sacrifice to save the world – except maybe himself. But Dean? He's got so many people he cares about. Really cares. It bleeds the twit dry but he keeps on caring. Pulled in ten directions. Keeps on cutting himself to pieces on the demonic edges of the world. Scrabbling and crawling to be a man his father would be proud of. Without ever realising he's been more than that for decades.

John thinks about saying it sometimes. Tell the lad he's more of a man than John Winchester could ever hope to be. He saves it though, the ultimate backhanded insult. Even though he's pretty sure the father would bloody well agree with him. He knows Dean wouldn't brook what he could only ever see as an insult to his father's memory. He would never even taste the compliment it was meant to be to both of them. But it's an ace, and John knows it, so he keeps it in his pocket. Just in case. Because John is what he is and knowing how to cut someone, with or without a knife, is what he does. Even if he is occasionally and currently covered in their spunk.

John pushes himself up, ignores the crunching sound in his spine, and looks down at the American. Really looks for a moment. This close and this open he can see the scars that no one else can. The man is still beautiful. Or 'well fit', as his niece would say. That's probably part of the problem. John never could resist a pretty face all that long. But he is also marred, marked, under the skin. Fractured along each elegant line. And that is more of the problem. A pretty face and a tattered heart. Red and black twisted through the pure greens and cold gold of the man's soul. Old, almost healed, Hell marks from the last apocalypse. Hellhound's teeth, almost faded. But then there are the newer ones too. Vicious bloody tears rent into his freckled flesh. Healing slowly and ripping back open every time he takes it too far. Which seems to be pretty bloody often.

Winchester entwined their fingers at some point where John had his hands pinned above their heads while they fucked. He's breathing hard. Coming down. But he hasn't let go. It's the arm. So John focuses, the same way he has dozens of times in the last few days. And pulls at it with his mind. It doesn't hurt exactly but it stings. Like lemon juice in an existing wound. A sharp edge on top of his usual existential pains. He draws off as much of the sticky darkness as he can without alerting Winchester. Careful not to think about what he's doing or why.

The Mark of Cain. How pig headed can one man be? Apparently it was Dean Winchester's life goal to test that hypothesis extensively. Although John should probably be grateful for that. A boy who saw mummy burned in Hellfire but still wants to fuck the 'Hellblazer'. That's got to be some very special kind of fucked up.

John winces and makes to move away. Trying to cover the internal struggle as his own demonic blood fights against Cain's borrowed violence. He knows his blood will win – Nergal never could stand Cain. But Dean's fingers grip tighter and his free arm, the unmarked one, snakes around John's waist. Pulling him in closer. Damned little sensualist. His eyes are brighter now. But he still hasn't closed off which is a bit of a surprise. He would normally push John away himself once he remembers who he thinks he's meant to be.

John uses his free hand to run a thumb along the younger man's jaw. It means putting his weight on their joined hands but Winchester can take it. He knows it's too intimate. Too tender. Knows he's pushing his luck. But he's thinking about the 20 year old hunter who practically threw himself at the mighty Hellblazer. The boy who just wanted to fuck a legend. Or maybe even the 25 year old who saw John in all his fucked up glory and still wanted to kiss him like salvation. The idiot who keeps forgiving the unforgivable. He thinks it's one of them who holds on to him now. Rather than the hell-burnt 36 year old mess of a man. So it is those memories he responds to. He ignores the lingering threat of sulphur and leans down to kiss the man he knew. Even John Constantine can't kiss away demon smoke but he can sure as Hellfire pretend it isn't there.

It is passion rough but post-coital sweet, that type of kiss. And that's another thing – if there is anyone better at denying a problem than John himself then it is this bloody Winchester. He'd panicked enough about the angel walking in on them in the kitchen. Which John had selflessly sorted while Winchester pulled himself together and promptly ran the fuck away.

The brother hadn't seemed to realise where his missing guest was ensconced this morning but Dean still had to be worried. Yet it didn't show. Not right now. He kissed like they had all morning - all the time in the world even. Like it didn't matter half as much as it would matter in about five minutes. In a world as bloody and biter as theirs maybe this is all you get. Moments of pretending stolen between running to or away, trying to kick a demon in the arse or buggering up the world trying.

Winchester finally releases him. So John moves away, pulls off the condom and throws it in the rubbish bin next to the bed. Half-heartedly wipes himself off with a tissue. Runs a hand through his hair and looks around for his smokes. When Dean only rolls his eyes and shuffles back up the bed, Constantine takes it as permission and lights up. Offers the packet to the lad who takes one – a sure sign that John is still in his good graces. For now. Winchester's tolerance for smoking seems to be directly proportional to his tolerance for John.

John leans against the foot of the bed. Facing the hunter. One leg up to prop the arm holding the smoke. Watched the lad slowly come back to himself and bunch back in. He can almost see the walls of brutal machismo going up. It is like a study in unhealthy coping mechanisms. Yet another parallel. John snorts half a laugh at that. Takes another drag of his cigarette.

"Fuck," Dean says and bangs his head against the headboard behind him. That'll be reality come a' knocking then.

"That's what we just did, mate." John gives his best lecherous smile.

"You think you're funny don't you?"

"Yes. So do you."

Winchester just rolls his eyes again. Takes a drag on his own cigarette and blows the smoke at the ceiling.

"I need a shower," Dean says with vague accusation. Even though John is almost certain that getting grubby in the first place was almost all the hunter's idea.

"That an invitation, luv?" John asks. But he isn't actually all that hopeful. Crossing the corridor without being spotted was going to be difficult enough alone - let alone together. Sneaking about like bloody teenagers. Yet another reason not to do this in the first place.

Dean gives him a measuring look. John stretches his neck to cover slight discomfort. He doesn't have a problem being in the buff – you don't get good at the type of magics John does without spending a lot of time naked and usually covered in something disgusting. And he certainly shouldn't be uncomfortable in front of a bloke he just rogered six ways from Sunday. But he can feel something in the air. A tension he isn't sure he wants to understand.

"Sure," Winchester says with a shrug.

"Yeah?" John blinks off his surprise. "Right, then."

Dean shakes his head amusedly and gets out of bed. John feels a slight sense of vindication when the hunter's back clicks as he stretches. He's heard enough 'old man' jokes in the last few days to justify it.

Winchester throws John's trousers at him and goes in search of his own. John stays put for now. Watches the smoothly precise way the bloke moves. Hyperaware. Each action planned - masking a deep potential for instant violence. He's changed. Of course he has. He's grown into and surpassed his training. What was once mere potential is now pure, deadly grace. Barely represses power in every motion. A bloody gorgeous sight with a bitter sweet edge. The Mark of Cain hanging over him like a modern Damocles. Damned by a destiny he refused but still paying its price. John sighs.

They haven't talked about the Mark since the first night John found the brothers out in Colorado.

_They had ended up in a pub, of course. Dean had backed him into a corner in the gents almost as soon as he was drunk enough to justify it. Of course._

_And John let him at first. Kissed back just as hard. But then he felt it. Felt the demonic energy pressing in against his protections. He had grabbed Dean's arm, twisting until the Mark was showing._

"_Bleeding hell Winchester. Will you never bloody learn?" He had demanded. God he'd been angry. Angrier than he had any right to be. Ran a thumb over the Mark then dropped the offending limb. "How long?"_

_Dean actually flinched. "Long enough." John had to wonder how much his approval meant to the bloke. Not for the first time. And hoped to hell that desire didn't have a sinister origin._

"_Where's the bone?"_

"_Crowley's got it." It was mumbled but John heard it well enough._

"_Of bloody course he does." That twat had his hands in everything these days. And John let him win at chess often enough to know why. He was a crafty bugger. But at least Winchester didn't have it. That was probably better, right?_

_John pushed Dean off him. Still irrationally annoyed. And that was that. He had stomped out of the gents and left Winchester to stew in it. Not a word about it since from either of them._

"Hey," Dean says. "You wanna drop the soap or what?" He's found jeans and an old Led Zeppelin tee-shirt. Looks younger in the loose fitting shirt. The cracks under his mask are even clearer now.

"So eager," John smirks back. "You seen me shirt?"

"Nope," Dean says, slightly smug. "I think I prefer you without." He bends down and kisses John's neck when he says it. Traces a hand over John's skin making him catch his breath. Smiles into a trail of short kisses.

"I'm sure you do, luv. But your brother might not, yeah?" Of course John knows that isn't the best thing to say. But as usual his curiosity overrules common sense. And besides, winding up Dean Winchester is a hobby. Everyone needs hobbies.

"Hmph," is all Dean says. But he pulls away and noticeably stiffens while he looks around the room. Then he grabs a grey wool dressing gown off the wardrobe door and tosses it at Constantine. "Here, hurry up."

**Chapter Notes:**

The story title is from My God by Jethro Tull.


	16. Confessing to the Endless Sin 2

It has been almost an hour since Sam and Chas Chandler started looking for the missing demonologist. And thus Sam's run in with Dean's locked door – which he is assiduously not thinking about. God, his brother! He's having a how are they even related morning.

Eventually Chandler announced that John would probably just turn up on his own. Sam was still a little worried, there were a lot of places to get lost in the Bunker and a lot of other things that could get a curious mage into trouble. Or get them all into trouble if combined with John Constantine anyway. But Chas knew him better than Sam and he seemed confident that he would turn up in time and in one piece. He was the Hellblazer after all. Maybe Sam was being overly anxious? That has been known to happen on occasion.

So Sam has given up searching and is making coffee in the kitchen when he hears Dean's distinctive laugh. He's talking to someone.

"It was a shifter, you can't just… whoa, Sammy?" Dean says when he tumbles through the door and spots Sam. He sounds uncomfortable. He's even blushing. Good. So he should. Sam would really like it if his brother managed to learn a bit of healthy human shame for once. It would make so many parts of Sam's life so much easier.

"Dean," Sam says only a little teasingly. "Food's in the oven keeping warm and there's coffee. In case you need to rehydrate."

"Ha, thanks." Dean pulls himself together and straightens up. "Oh, I found your precious Hellblazer for you."

Constantine trails him into the room. Dressed in his normal slacks, shirt, and tie combo but missing the perpetual trench coat. His hair is wet but he doesn't look any worse for wear.

"Mornin' squire," John says cheerfully. "Don't suppose there's any chance of tea?" He's already investigating the rack where the pots and appliances live in search of a kettle.

"Um, yeah," Sam says. Still a bit confused. He had assumed Dean had been, ah, occupied the whole time. Sam didn't even realize he would look for John at all, let alone manage to find him. Still, no matter how good the old Hellblazer was as a demon hunter Sam would rather have him in sight – and Dean didn't even like the guy so probably had even more reason to stop him wandering around the Bunker.

Sam produces the kettle from where he keeps it by the stove and fills it.

"Brilliant," Constantine says and hauls himself up onto one of the stools that surround the counter island. "Milk, no sugar." Apparently Sam is making the tea as well as the coffee. Good to know.

Dean gets the plates of leftovers from the oven, which he gives a suspicious look. "Who cooked?" he asks. It's some sort of hash thing that Sam didn't understand but it tasted good.

"Chas," Sam says.

"Okay," Dean doesn't sound convinced but he dumps one plate in front of John before going to get a mug of coffee. He props himself against the wall next to the coffee maker, mug next to him, plate balanced and eating one handed. It's a defensive thing. Means he can keep the whole room and both exits in sight as well as Sam and Constantine. He's normally more relaxed here. Sam tries not to worry.

He's still avoiding Sam's gaze. He should be embarrassed after this morning. Growing up in such close proximity they obviously had experience avoiding and ignoring certain topics. But even Dean is usually more circumspect around other people and certainly more restrained during a case. Although Sam's not sure this counts as a case per ce.

"Where have you been?" Chas demands as soon as he walks into the room from the Library side door. He has the same resigned tone that reminds Sam so much of himself dealing with Dean – Sam can't help but smile even as Chas continues, "I went out first thing to get your 10 quarts of lambs' blood and then I couldn't find you."

Chandler has every right to be a bit bitter. Sam knew the sort of looks that you get when you're 6'4" and buying a large supply of animal blood. It isn't an easy errand and the butchers of Lebanon, KS are already getting suspicious. One asked to try Sam's blood sausages the other week. He's considering learning to make them just to prove he's not a crazed satanic witch. Even if black magic is actually closer to the real explanation – it's the principle of the thing. Maybe he can convince Dean to do it?

"Ah, exploring?" John tries. "Nothin' wrong with a wee adventure."

"You just…"

Sam turns when Chas' mild nagging trails off abruptly. He's looking from John, to Dean, and back again. Whatever he sees seems to satisfy his curiosity.

"Really?" Chas says with a laugh. Which doesn't answer Sam's confusion at all.

John just shrugs and looks generally unrepentant.

Oh shit. Is Chas implying… and why is John just letting him think… Sam glances quickly at Dean to gauge his reaction. He's been relatively calm the last few days which is an absolute blessing - more than Sam had hoped for. Considering the Mark combined with Constantine's presence was never going to be an easy combination. But he doesn't seem angry. He's seemed more himself for days actually. Apart from constantly bitching at John – although that's par for the course too really. Maybe he missed it?

"Where's Cas?" Dean says suddenly. Changing the subject. Sam lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "Shouldn't you be organizing a search party by now?"

"Ha, real funny," Sam deadpans. "He took Zed outside for some air."

"Why is Cas allowed to touch the psychic guinea pig and we're not?" Dean asks grumpily. Which is a bit rich seeing as he doesn't even really like animals. He just doesn't like not being allowed to do something - no matter what it is.

"Zed likes him," Chas supplies.

"She would," Constantine says with a dismissive snort.

And Sam has no idea what's going on there either. The Hellblazer prevaricates from practically flirting with Cas to being almost mean to him. The flirting itself would be hilarious because Sam can almost see Dean's teeth grinding down every time. But Sam feels sorry for Castiel as well. Somehow Cas seems to have been dragged into John and Dean's ongoing hostilities. Like an angelic tug of war toy. And that really doesn't seem fair. It doesn't help Sam's conscience to notice that the angel has been unusually quiet since John arrived. Sam is worried about him but not exactly sure of the best tactic to resolve it yet. Not even totally sure what the actual problem is. And he's distracted trying to defuse the apparent Winchester vs Constantine war that he always seems to get roped into.

Sam had really hoped that telling Dean about John's little foray to Hell on their behalf, back before the apocalypse, would have made him ease up a bit. Resolved some of that argumentative tension. But if anything he'd just been worse since the reveal. The snarky comments becoming almost constant. The aimless battle of wills ramping up yet another notch. Sam sighs just thinking about it.

"Did Cas, um... say anything?" Dean asks. Is he nervous? What has he done this time? If one of those morons has managed to actually hurt the angel's feelings Sam is going to be so pissed. Sam is aware that it is a bit irrational to feel defensive of a millennia old heavenly soldier – but he can't help it. Cas is family. He would be just as pissed if someone hurt Dean - although he thinks that would be harder to do.

"No, not really" Sam says. Letting Dean hear his suspicion. "Should he have?"

"Don't know," Dean lies. And yes Sam can tell it's a lie. But sometimes he just has to pick his battles when it comes to Dean.

"Right," Sam says. He goes through the motions of making tea. Making himself one too seeing as he's boiled the water.

"Cheers, mate," John says when Sam hands him a mug.

"He's coming back though, right?" Dean asks. He sounds genuinely scared which helps soften Sam's attitude.

"Who?" Sam asks, confused by the question.

"Cas!"

"He better bleeding well come back, he's got our gui… Zed." John corrects at the last minute when Chas glares at him.

"Yes he's coming back, Dean," Sam says. "Why wouldn't he?"

Dean just shrugs and focuses on his food.

Sam waits – hoping Dean will suddenly decide to just tell him what's up. Nothing is forthcoming though. Sam has seen the ways Cas and Dean look at each other. He isn't blind. And he isn't jealous. Not really. But if Dean has finally done something about it and fucked it all up Sam's not sure he wants to be part of that fallout. Not sure he would know how to pick up those pieces. Not sure Dean would even let him.

After a while Dean manages to distract himself and Sam by engaging in an incomprehensible conversation with Chas about the merits of 'par-boiling potatoes.' It would be nice, maybe even domestic, if it wasn't for the ever present tension in the air. Like the static before lighting. Or the way a thread tenses just before it breaks. Sam can feel it in his teeth. He feels like maybe he should be happy - pleased by the distraction from everything else that has been falling down around his ears for months, years even. But he can't shake the feeling that something big is about to happen. That Dean is guilty about something. Something Sam should be able to guess at by now and fix. Feels like he's failing as a brother by not even knowing what's wrong let along how to fix it.

"So, about that lambs blood?" Constantine is saying. Pushes his plate away and cracks his knuckles. "May as well get this show on the road, yeah?"

Chas goes to the fridge and puts the bucket of blood in front of John without being asked. John takes the lid off and Sam can smell it. Yuck. Why does this never get less disgusting?

Dean wanders past Constantine on his way to the sink and looks over the exorcist's shoulder with a grimace. "God, magic's gross," Dean says. "I friggin' hate magic."

Sam tenses, just in case, when John moves. Smirks over his shoulder and says, "You didn't say that to Mama Xala." It brings the exorcist's face inches from Dean's and Sam knows his brother doesn't normally let anyone but himself or Cas get that close. Or, you know, chicks. Sam really doesn't need this tension boiling over into violence today. Even if Dean was the one to lean over the Hellblazer in the first place – logic doesn't always come into it if Dean goes into what Sam mental terms 'compensation mode'.

"Yeah, well, she had nicer tits," Dean says with an exaggerated leer. "And her ass. That's the kind of magic I can get behind."

"Literally," John says with a smirk. Which somehow gets Dean glaring again too as he continues his mission to the sink.

And, huh? What? Who is Mama Xala anyway? But at least Dean doesn't do anything other than glare a bit and resume his defensive post near the coffee maker. Whoever she is mentioning her seems to have defused the situation and re-established his brother's sometimes tentative heterosexuality. So Sam decides he likes her in principle at least.

"Why does it have to be me, again?" Sam asks quickly. Trying to hold on to the moment of peace before the glare evolves. He tries for matter of fact and misses it by half a mile - hits petulant instead.

"Because," John says, rolling up his sleeves. "Can't be me or Chas. Golden boy'll know who's callin' and it won't be binding if we use the angel… that leaves you, mate."

"What about Dean?" Sam asks. And okay maybe it is a little whiny. But he isn't the one who pissed off an archangel and got his friend turned into a guinea pig. He's really not sure he wants to see Gabriel at all let alone summon him.

"Weeeellll," Constantine drags the word out. Buying time. And glances to Dean, for what? Confirmation?

Dean manages to shrug aggressively. It is such a uniquely Dean gesture that it tugs at Sam's heart a bit. He forgets he's annoyed at him for a moment.

"Gabriel's… observant. And… it's complicated," is all John offers. "It's a delicate spell." And that didn't answer anything at all.

Sam sighs. "That's not an answer."

"Hellblazer doesn't answer questions, Sammy," Dean says with a slightly evil smile. "He just avoids them."

"Almost as good as not asking 'em at all, eh Winchester?" John smirks back.

For some reason that makes Dean uncomfortable again or maybe just grumpy? Sam doesn't know how much more of this he can take. That was what, less than five minutes before they started in on each other. They're glaring at each other like looks could kill. Maybe Constantine's can – who knows. That, or they're going to rip each other's clothes off. God, Dean would kill him if he knew how often he thought stuff like that. Sam almost laughs at it despite the tension.

"That was one freaking time," Dean gripes.

"Guys," Sam snaps.

"Fine, it's about purity," John says, surprising them all with further explanation. "It's easier to purify you than it is to purify him these days… I'm not sure your brother will qualify as human for the binding. That's why it has to be you. He's a twat but he's still an archangelic twat. That means no cock ups. That means you."

There are several beats of silence. It reminds Sam of learning to string a bow. Tying the line too taught and feeling it flex hard before it snapped. Sam's mind keeps running over the word human. He fixed Dean. Didn't he? He cured him. That's over. It's got to be. But what else could Constantine mean? How could anyone be less pure than Sam? The boy with the demon blood. Sam doesn't think he can go through loosing Dean again. Not to that thing. Not after everything.

"Right," Dean says. Ice cold and vicious. Shit. Sam had been too distracted by his own thoughts to notice Dean's reaction. Sam sees Chandler take a defensive stance but no one else moves. At least Sam and Chas are both bigger than their respective combatants. Sam can hear the Mark in Dean's voice even if his next words make no actual sense, "Human never was your type, was it Hellblazer?" Dean spits out.

"You sure you wanna have this chat 'ere, luv?" Constantine drawls. Like he has no idea how dangerous Dean can be. Like this isn't a threat. Like he hadn't just suggested the man he's still half-teasing is still half-demon. Like it's all still a game. But Sam knows better. Knows Dean better.

"Pretty fucking sure I want to know what you meant?" Dean says. Leans into John's space aggressively. Fuck. This is not going well.

"Don't start, Winchester," Constantine says putting a hand out to one side in an odd gesture. Almost like he's about to hug his attacker. "You know what I bleeding well meant. And I think you want to talk about it almost as much as I do. Which is t' say, not at all. So, don't- fucking- start-"

Then the miracle occurs. Dean actually does relax a bit. "Fine," he says and backs off with a huffed sigh. Fuck. Sam really needs to learn that trick.

"Besides," John says while he lights a cigarette. "If Gabe's gotta thing for Chas then he's probably got a thing for Sammy boy too. Can't hurt."

Chandler looks taken aback and Sam can feel himself blush. But Dean just laughs like he's never heard anything funnier. Sam expected confusion or more aggression, maybe even a bit of misplaced protectiveness. But somehow he's just back to normal big brother levels of asshole for the day. Sam couldn't be more grateful. Even if he is about to get covered in blessed lambs' blood and herbs.

Sam's had worse weekends.

0oOo0

Of course the truce doesn't last.

Dean and John are soon back to snarking and arguing about nothing. And Sam is back to wanting to throttle one or both just to escape.

Sam is in the middle of the library, stripped to the waist and covered in the mystical blood mixture when Cas comes back inside. The purification or whatever it was is finished and John, who is bloody to the elbow, is washing off in a large brass bowl. Dean is glaring at him like he finds the act of hand washing personally offensive. And Sam is so fed up.

"Hello Sam," Cas greets. "Charles, John… Dean."

And that's odd. Sam can hear something in his voice. Discomfort maybe? Shit. He's even avoiding Dean's eyes. Which he never does. Sam has had to spend almost five years watching them eye-fuck at every opportunity. He knows for certain that Cas does not avoid Dean's gaze even in life or death situations. What the fuck has Dean done to the poor guy.

"Ah, 'ullo Thursday," John says, half-turning to face the angel. "You mind testin' me work? See if you can touch old Sam here?"

Chas puts a marker in his book and gets up to collect Zed from Castiel's arms. After saying goodbye to the guinea pig Cas approaches Sam cautiously and reaches out a hand like he's going to heal him. Then he grimaces and pulls his hand back. "That was surprisingly painful," Cas says.

"Excellent!" Constantine says and rubs his now clean hands together before lighting yet another cigarette. Sam's pretty sure the guy is going to die of lung cancer long before any demon takes him down.

"Hey," Dean says. "Don't use him like your personal guinea… um. Don't experiment on him."

"Relax mate," John scoffs. "No harm done, right Thursday?"

"John is correct," Cas confirms. "I am unharmed. It was more surprising than anything. I couldn't sense the warding until I was touching it."

Dean snorts derisively. Like he can't take the angel's word about his own safety. Like he's going to start yet another pointless and only semi-comprehensible argument with Constantine.

And god, Sam is done. He is going to snap if he doesn't get a break from this nonsense.

"Dean," Sam says. "We've got hours yet but this is a really complex circle for us. Why don't you head out to the barn and start prepping while I clean up here?"

He knows it's an obvious ploy. But he just hopes Dean wants to avoid Cas enough that he'll give in. It's selfish. He should try and get them to talk about it. Or something. But he shouldn't push his luck either – he knows how hard Dean fights against any even potentially emotional confrontation. He'll wait until they get rid of John and Chas (and Zed too he supposes). Then he'll try deal with whatever it is that has got Cas and Dean all twisted about. One thing at a time. And right now he needs Dean out of his hair and a break from the constant antagonism.

"Sure," Dean says. "Where's the spray paint?" Pushes himself off the wall dramatically.

"Green duffel in my room," Sam says. Surprised by Dean's easy acquiescence.

Sam breaths a subtle sigh of relief when Dean leaves the room without any argument at all. That was easier than expected. Thank fucking god. At this point Sam will just be happy if they deal with all this and get rid of Constantine without anyone getting burned with Hellfire.

John catches Castiel's arm and pulls him aside. Sam can't hear what they're talking about but he wonders if it has anything to do which whatever has crawled up Dean's ass today. Wonders if the Hellblazer will make it better or worse?

Dean walks back into the room a few minutes later with his jacket on and the green duffel bag over his shoulder. Plays with his keys.

"You coming or what?" Dean demands.

At first Sam thinks he's talking to Cas but then he realizes that, no, he's talking to Constantine. The very man that Sam was trying to give him some much needed space from. Seriously, Dean? Sam is pretty sure this is exactly what incredulous feels like.

"Yeah, yeah," John says like this is the most expected thing in the world. "Chas, mate, you seen me coat?"

"Back of the chair. Right next to you." Chas points out mildly. He has Zed perched on his shoulder and sniffling his hair.

"Ah, ta," John balances his cigarette between his lips and grabs the tan trench coat. "See ya in a bit, lads."

Sam knows he's staring but he can't help it. Because, what? They've been at each other's throats all frigging day and now they're just wandering off to paint sigils all over a barn together for hours like it's nothing. And sure, objectively it makes sense; take the magus with you to paint the circle. But on every other level it is ridiculous.

"Dean," Cas says moving as though he might follow them.

"Not now Cas… I…" Dean looks at the angel, lost for a moment. "Soon, okay? I promise. I'll explain soon. Just… not now, okay?"

Cas nods. Accepts whatever Dean throws at him, as usual.

And there is so much going on there that Sam has missed; he feels like he's intruding on something just by seeing it. There's something meaningful in that promise but Sam can't quite put his finger on it. Maybe they really are finally going to… maybe? But Sam's thought that before too. And they never do.

Constantine is slouched in the doorway, watching the exchange with interest. Dean pulls away from Cas and almost shoves John in front of him on the way out of the room.

Sam doesn't hear what John asks but he hears Dean's reply. It's the Winchester mantra. "I'm fine."

"Should we…" Sam half asks Chas. Makes a vague hand motion towards the departed hunter and Hellblazer. Not even really sure what his question is.

"It's been 16 years," Chas says, as though that's an answer. Manages some kind of fond shrug. "If they were going to kill each other they'd have done it by now."

**Chapter Notes:**

I've left Gabriel and Sam's relationship purposefully ambiguous so you can read it whichever way you prefer.


	17. Confessing to the Endless Sin 3

WARNINGS:

Warning for mild BDSM. Safe, sane, and consensual - basically just restraints and a bit of manhandling and a tiny bit of knife-play (all from Dom perspective and mild).

It's all pretty light stuff (in my opinion). But for those that want to skip this chapter I'll put a summary in the end notes.

TEXT:

Dean is still on edge. He spent all day waiting for the fallout that still hasn't come. He'd practically run out of the place when Sam offered him the flimsiest of excuses.

They are ostensibly scoping out and preparing a location to summon Gabriel. A mostly abandoned barn about two hours out from the Men of Letters' Bunker in Lebanon. It was still far too close to home as far as Dean was concerned. But he'd been overruled by geekier minds. So here he was. Alone with the Hellblazer in the middle of nowhere. The current outcome was inevitable really.

Neither of them are good at talking. Not really talking. Dean knew he shut down. Or covered any real emotion with jokes. Hid in his work or his car. John was the opposite but just as bad. He rambled. Long monologues about his hatred for the world without ever touching the real subject. Or distracted everyone with tricks. Both of them spoke a lot but neither of them really said anything.

But this? This was easier. This was real. You could say things with skin and teeth that words couldn't touch. Sweat slick and lust rough. Taut to trembling. Canting hips and catching breath. Pain and pleasure swirling together in an intoxicating concoction of body to body contact. Panting and ragged with desire. Each desperate push and frantic kiss saying more than a soliloquy could.

The barn smells like ancient hay, mouldering wood and spray paint. Dean hopes they haven't smudged the ridiculously complex circle. Because of course they're in the freaking middle of it. "We're bindin' an angel – a bit of desecration won't hurt the spell Winchester. Less talking, more shagging, yeah?" Constantine had muttered while pulling off Dean's shirt. So that was that. They lost all the shirts twenty minutes ago. And at some point Dean took control. He's vaguely aware that he's a lot bigger and stronger than he was last time they did anything like this. He could actually force the point now – not that he would but it's scary to know he could. But Constantine just gives ground, easily for once.

They're still standing but only just. Both on edge, trembling to frantic and kissing like it might be their last. Dean grabs the older guy's wrist suddenly and uses it to spin him with one arm pinned to his back. Dean is pressed in tight against his spine now and breathing hard. The other arm, free to roam, reaches back to grip Dean's thigh and pull him in even closer. Demanding son of a bitch. Dean can taste sweat and smoke as he bites and kisses along one shoulder.

"You remember the…" Dean starts to say.

"Kansas," Constantine says the safeword with a breathy laugh. "Like the band, not the state."

Dean hides a smile in the man's neck. Remembers his much younger self choosing it and using the same qualifier in a mirror reversal of this very scene. Though he's pretty sure it was a church not a barn.

"I remember. I'm not that old, Winchester," Constantine says voice lust dark again. "Now get on with it, yeah?"

"Is that a fucking challenge, Hellblazer?" Dean says tugging Constantine even closer with a rough jerk of his arm.

"That's me usual intention, mate," Constantine smirks back. Because the bastard just can't turn it off.

Dean tightens his grip enough to bruise. He doesn't push it too far, though. Not yet. But if there is anyone out there he can risk the Mark with it is the man currently pressing back into him with a hell-tinged grin. Somewhere deep and demon black he even kind of wants it to happen. Wants the violent blood rush to take over. Wants to watch from the inside as he pushes his luck too far. Taste the Hellfire and just fucking burn. Let the Hellblazer take care of the problem Cas won't – in more ways than one.

He slides his free hand around to pull off demonologist's belt. Bites down into Constantine's shoulder as he does so and listens for the tell-tale catch of breath that says he's hit the mark. Kisses a soft line across the welts from his teeth before sinking in again. That's gonna bruise. Ruts in so John can feel how devastatingly hard he is. Threat, thanks, and promise all in one. Gets another satisfyingly hitched breath for it before pulling the belt free in one fluid motion.

Dean pulls back just far enough to get both of Constantine's arms behind his back now and pull them tight with the recently claimed belt. Misses the contact momentarily but knows the pay-off will be worth it. He pulls off his own belt and uses it to double the binding higher on Constantine's arms. 'Make 'em nice and tight, love' Dean remembers the decade old instruction and gives one last tug on the makeshift strap. Constantine is pliant, grunts and shifts with the movement but doesn't stumble.

Sweat cools on Dean's chest in the night air and Constantine shivers for a moment in front of him, part anticipation and part chill. Dean dives back in with startling speed. Licks a hot stripe up the Hellblazer's spine before biting down on that sensitive spot on the very back of his neck. Gets a bitten off sound of pleasure for his trouble.

Constantine moves with him as he presses in, fumbles with the guy's fly. And really who wears dress slacks to paint a summoning circle anyway? But soon he's pushing away the fabric and traces his fingers across blood hard and sex hot skin; earns another sweet gasp before moving away. Winding one hand into the restraining leather. Glides the other away from the exorcist's cock and runs it torturously slow up his side. Delicately over the throat, lingers at the jaw, then, finally digs into messy blond hair and pulls. Hard and sharp. At odds with the previous teasing tenderness. Forces them into a slightly awkward over the shoulder kiss. Suddenly, and utterly unrestrained. Pressing in hard. All teeth and tongue and touch.

He ends up pulling them both to the ground. Sinking to his knees and yanking Constantine down with him. He hasn't quite pulled the Hellblazer into his lap but it's close. He lets go so he can rake his nails up the exorcist's thighs – hard enough to leave red welts. So hard he draws blood on one side. Gets a cut off whimper and John leaning back into his bare chest. He's so hard it fucking hurts but he doesn't move to take off his jeans or even undo them just yet. Uses the rough scratch of denim against skin to drive his companion closer to the endless edge. Enjoys the verge of pain a bit himself, really.

Dean looks around. Their various top layers a strewn around the barn. Constantine's shirt and tie lie over the makeshift altar. His own plaid over-shirt abandoned by the south wards - where this all started. And his tee-shirt not far to their right. But no sign of his jacket. He frowns.

Damn it. Did he leave it in the car? He had promised himself never to go anywhere alone with John unprepared. He learned that lesson hot and hard ten years ago in Georgia.

"Have you seen my…"

"Holy oil," Constantine says between panted breaths. Dean digs his nails in again just to hear it catch. Then uses one arm to wrap around the demonologist's chest and hold him in place giving Dean unrestricted access to his neck and ear. Little biting kisses just to keep things going while they have this ridiculous conversation now and not half an hour ago, like normal people would have back when everyone was dressed.

"You sure?" Dean says, can't help sounding dubious even between scattered kisses. Because what the fuck?

They've probably done weirder things but he's having trouble thinking of any right now. Dean doesn't even know what's in the stuff just knows that it smells sickly sweet and spicy. And, yeah okay, that it tingles a bit when it touches the skin. There's only about three people in the world that know how to make it. Admittedly one of them is John Constantine – who probably made this batch come to think of it. Dean had asked once and Constantine just told him he really didn't want to know. That isn't a comforting thought.

Constantine arches back, winces as it pulls the restraints, until his head falls onto Dean's shoulder. So Dean kisses him. Softer than he should for this kind of thing. Because he's there. And they're alone. And why the fuck not. He smells like ash, herbs and skin but tastes like hell hot promise.

He nips at Dean's lip once more before breaking the kiss. Looks the hunter in the eye, searching for something. And Dean just knows he's going to either love or hate what comes next. Maybe both. He knows that look. Constantine is about to lay something on the line and he didn't quite trust Dean to tell him his real reaction. It is telling that John Constantine gives the exact same calculating look to lovers, ghosts and demons.

"I'm clean as a whistle, luv" John says with a smirk. "Good ol' Nergal left me immune to a lot…" he shrugs it off, as usual. Like he isn't offering (asking for?) what he is offering. And, shit. Dean hadn't even thought about that. Holy oil is oil after all – it would totally weaken latex. Constantine's still talking but Dean's mind has raced ahead. "Checked for the rest after Mexico… so…" Dean half hears him trail off. Realises a response of some kind is going to have to happen. He blinks instead.

It's another one of those situations where if you looked at it from the outside Dean is absolutely in control. He's still way more dressed, he has Constantine tied up on his knees on the barn floor for fuck sake. But he feels like that stupid kid picked up by a legend in a bar – not completely sure about the rules and no idea what he's about to get himself into. Hellblazer always manages to find new ways to pull the fucking rug out from under him.

He's hardly ever gone bareback, at least not human. Only a few times with Lisa who wasn't that into it; didn't like the mess and really didn't want to risk another kid. Other than her it had never been reasonable. Everyone else he has been with was a random hook-up or damn close to it. Never worth the risk. Dean Winchester is very fond of his junk.

But apparently his body thinks the idea of barebacking the Hellblazer sounds pretty damn good. The thought of it alone is enough to have his cock twitching even further to attention. Sends a ripple of hot tension through him. He reminds himself that the first rule of dealing with John Constantine is 'never trust the son of a bitch'. But he also suspects there is some stuff he can trust him with. Hell he's trusted him with this, whatever it is, for years.

"Yeah, sure," Dean hears himself say. "Me too, I mean…"

He even knows for sure - had to get tested after the whole being a fricking demon thing. Because seriously, Crowley? Not to mention all the other random hook-ups. What had his demon self been thinking? He looks at the squirming Brit currently trapped against his chest, and okay, fine maybe he wasn't actually doing much better. But at least Constantine isn't currently a demon or, you know, King of fucking Hell. Might be one day though…

Constantine bites his arm then. Hard. Right next to that god damned Mark. Dean flinches.

"Don't," Dean says automatically.

"Make me," Constantine smirks back.

Oh yeah. That. And that was totally part of it wasn't it. There's a pure dominating edge to it, isn't there. Being fucked. Marked. Claimed. Kinky son of a bitch. Dean can feel his blood run hot again.

He leans in as close as he can get. "I think I fucking might," he whispers into the Hellblazer's ear. Lets a little of the rack into his voice. Talks to the man in his arms like he's a monster. Maybe they both are. Watches the way it makes the exorcist shudder then pushes off sharply. Pushes himself to his feet and goes over to the altar. Leaves John on the floor watching him.

Dean grabs the holy oil and, upon seeing Constantine's reaction when his hand brushed it, the silver ritual knife as well. Puts the blade between his teeth and winks. Gets a glare in return. They both know he can't really do much though. Can't risk breaking the skin and getting one or both of them bloody – they've only got a few hours left and there is only so much he can explain away. But there's still the tease in it. Constantine is really into that slice and burn kind of pain. It isn't really Dean's thing, he prefers it blunt and bruising, push and bite, but he absolutely gets it. And he knows how to play the edge of it. Very few people this side of Hell know even half as much about blades and pain and power as the once righteous Dean Winchester.

He slips back into character. Because that's what this is. It's no different than any other seductive dance. It's just another hunger begging to be fed. Another little half-lie and half-truth in his smile. And there's a freaky kind of purity here; walking this fine line between too much and not enough. One he can't really walk with anyone else.

He drops to his knees again in front of the bound man. Knife in his teeth. Holds eye contact. And when you've seen Hell, real Hell with a capital H, it scars you. Leaves its mark in your eyes and on your soul. It's fucking terrifying. Maybe worse than demon black because it's a painful and human kind of evil. But in this particular moment Hellfire meets Hellfire and burns nothing but anticipation.

Dean puts down the carafe and digs his fingers into Constantine's hair again. He can do this. Put one freak-out aside for now and focus on the moment in front of him. Half climbs into the guy's lap. Pressing rough denim to delicate lust hard flesh. Takes the blade out of his teeth and presses it against one of the Hellblazer's ribs. Cold silver to desire hot skin. Constantine's eyes half close and Dean can't help grinning at that. He digs the blade in a little deeper, almost enough to break the skin but not quite. Then he kisses him again. A confusion of soft and sharp sensation that makes the Hellblazer moan into him.

And Dean turns the kiss itself indulgent and slow. Even as his grip stays firm and painful in blond hair and he scrapes the blade along the exorcist's rib line. Constantine lets him. Doesn't fight it, doesn't bite or buck up. Doesn't force it rough again. Even though Dean can feel the tension in him. Knows how hard and rough he wants it. Dean will give it to him. Soon. But right now he needs the contrast. The reminder that this is a give game. That they're about as far from Hell as either of them ever gets (which isn't far but it's far enough).

At least Sammy will never know about this. Dean might have to admit to 'yeah sometimes I go a bit Brokeback, so what' - but Sam will never have to know how much Dean pushes at the edge of Hell sometimes. So close he can almost smell the sulfur sting. How many skills he never lost. He digs the tip of blade in and twists. It'll hurt more than it bleeds. A sharp stinging gouge of feeling distinct from all the other pleasure singed nerves where their bodies meet and writhe against each other.

"Oh god," it's Constantine's voice. A whisper. Almost a whimper. Soft breath against a soft kiss.

Dean grins and pulls back enough to respond. "I'm really not," Dean says with an approximation of the Hellblazer's own smug expression.

"You sure, mate?" Constantine manages.

"Pretty damned sure," Dean says and sinks back in to bite and suck away his smile into John's neck.

He runs the knife blade all the way up Constantine's chest and neck then, flicking it away at the tip of his chin. Discards it, ignores the offended look from Constantine, in favour of dragging his nails in on the way back down instead. He likes that better anyway – it's more immediate. He can feel the skin tug and pull against his fingers. Fell the blood rush to the surface leaving hot trails behind his touch. Gets a hand between their bodies and takes hold of the Hellblazer's cock. Leaving bruising bites on his chest in time with each caress.

"Actually, you're right," Constantine mumbles between panting and arching up into Dean's touch. "Should'a known better... fuck…" he cants forward as Dean lets go of his hair and scratches into his back right across the fire ward. Knows it's linked to Constantine's magic and it'll burn. "You're a lot better… christ… lookin' for a start."

Dean isn't really paying attention to the words. Listening for tone and pace of breath more than meaning. So it takes his brain a few seconds to catch up. He's reaching for the holy oil when the implication clicks into place.

"You have got to be freaking kidding me?" Dean says. Leaning back so he can look the Hellblazer in the eye.

"What?" John asks. Confused by the sudden stillness.

"Did you just say that I'm better looking than God?" Dean clarifies. Says each word with clear disbelieving purpose. "Implying that you know what God looks like?"

"God, Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, et cetera? That's the wanker… Why've you stopped? 'Cause I don't know if you noticed but I was bloody enjoying that, mate. "

"You found God?" Dean asks. Ignores the rest. Because seriously? What the fuck?

"Well, I wouldn't say found, exactly…" Constantine manages to shrug despite still having his arms tied behind his back. "I wouldn't worry about it, luv. He's a cunt…"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There was an apocalypse on, for a start. And I was dyin' of bloody lung cancer," he rolls his eyes at Dean's shocked expression. "Don't start. It's all better now but it's a long sodding story, mate. And now ain't exactly the best time for it neither." He sounds freaking tired all of a sudden.

Constantine flexes his arms again and looks pointedly at their entwined limbs to demonstrate his reasoning. And Dean knows there is a whole lot more to the story. But he also knows the Hellblazer is right for once. Now is seriously not the right time for this conversation. Or any conversation really. He can feel himself giving in. Damn it.

"Just… don't tell Cas?" Dean says. "Please." Defeated, he lets his forehead rest against Constantine's. Because really that would be worse than any other outcome from this whole tawdry thing. Cas knowing for sure that his dad was out there and just didn't fucking care enough to come when he called. Knowing he'd show up for the damned Hellblazer and not an angel? Dean can't watch that happen. He can still remember that broken look in the angel's eyes. It's something he just can't do again.

"Wasn't planning on it luv," Constantine says, presses up into a chaste kiss. "Now, do you mind if we get back to the whole fucking me into a floor thing? I was rather looking forward to it. Even if you are too stingy to invite the angel."

Dean laughs. "You met freaking God and you still want to try double team an angel? Seriously?"

"Yes," Constantine says like it was frigging obvious. "But not right now. Right now, you- fucking me- blasphemous use of blessed substances. Yeah?"

The grin is back. All Hellfire hot and self-destructively indulgent. And damn it if that isn't all it takes to get Dean right back on board. Why does this guy make him so fucking weak?

He tries to kiss away the tension. Hot, and slick, and heavy with pent up frustration. And Constantine opens up to him. Lets him push right in. Lets him say everything with a kiss the he doesn't know how to in words. Responds in kind. Bucks up into his erstwhile captor and kisses back with frantic intent. Eventually, when he can feel the Hellblazer's interest is back on track and pressing into his thigh, Dean breaks the kiss; leaving Constantine panting again.

"Who the hell says I'm fucking you?" Dean says with a wink.

"Bloody hell, Winchester," Constantine glares up at him. Almost looks genuinely offended – except Dean knows him too well to fall for it. "You can't just tie a bloke up and use 'em as a sodding human sex toy!"

"Mmm, I could," Dean says. Files that idea away for later. "But I won't. At least, not now." He leans in to whisper, "as long as you're very, very good." Nips at the exorcist's ear for emphasis.

Dean bends backwards to grab the oil – knows exactly what it looks like. Hears a muffled whimper and another beautiful catch of breath as his denim clad ass brushes sensitive skin. Sits back up in one fluid motion and pulls the stopper out with his teeth. Likes the way the Hellblazer tracks every stretch of movement. Breathing back to the heavy uncontrolled pace that Dean was striving for all along. The hunter pours some of the fragrant oil onto his hand and rubs it between his fingers. Puts the bottle down just within reach but not so close they'll fall on it (because really how would he explain that one to Sam). It does have a pretty nice slide to it and it heats slightly under friction. Maybe this will work after all.

He tosses the cork aside with a flick of his head. "What do you think, Hellblazer?" Dean says tone all the way back to seductive now. "You think John Constantine knows how to be a good boy?"

"Not on your bloody life, mate." Constantine's smirk is an ice hot challenge. Dean can't help but rise to it – just like he always does.

Bends down into another crushing kiss, wraps his free hand around the Hellblazer's neck and slides the oil slick one between the man's sweat cooled thighs. Of course Dean gives bastard just what he wants – just like he always does.

**Chapter Notes:**

So, in this chapter Dean and Johnny C start to have ridiculously kinky sex (sorry I got carried away) and John hints at my version of the events of Hellblazer #128 in which John met God and basically threatened him with John ruling Hell if him and his crew remain damned (after John sold his soul) - so it is HB canon that Johnny C basically manipulates God into breaking a deal with Satan.

In this 'verse of course that means John met and somehow recognized Chuck then manipulated him into something. Aww, bless, it's a plot bunny!

Also, the 'oh god' to 'pretty damn sure' exchange is a call back to a similar exchange (reversed) in Whiskey Burning (too hot for FF on AO3 only).

Um, yeah I don't know why that took 3700 words either... Feel free to go tell me off on Tumblr or something.


	18. Confessing to the Endless Sin 4

Sam feels better. A lot better actually.

He was allowed to wash off the blood thankfully. Although he did have to let it dry first which was really freaking gross. But he is clean now. And strangely calm too. He suspects it is a residual effect from the purification spell. It kind of reminds him of the Trials just without the whole throwing up blood and dying part. At least the abnormal calm is helping him deal with the stupid rivalry that is still playing out in front of him.

"Sure you don't wanna stay outside Winchester," John is saying. Baiting the beast. "Stay away from the big bad archangel?"

"Fuck you, Constantine," Dean says.

Constantine, who is slightly ahead of them on the path back up to the barn, turns so he's walking backwards. "Don't be like that, Winchester. You know I want you around," John says, smirking. Which makes no sense to Sam but holds some meaning to Dean.

Then Dean… well Sam's not really sure how to describe it. It looks like he's going to grin but he turns it at the last moment. Bares his teeth and sort of snarls in an aggressively animalistic gesture that really has Sam worried. He knew this break from that frigging Mark was too good to be true.

Constantine just continues to push his luck though by winking at Dean before turning back around and swaggering into the barn.

They keep doing stuff like this that Sam just doesn't get. It obviously means something but he can't quite figure out what. Sam has to wonder just how many cases they worked together while he was at Stanford. Dean doesn't like to talk about that period in their lives – sees it as Sam abandoning him. And Sam knows he could have handled it better back then but he was just an angry messed up kid. He had resented his dad, and even Dean, resented their whole life. He needed to try it on his own. Needed to escape. At 18 he hadn't understood what it meant to be a hunter. Hadn't understood what doing what they do really meant. And certainly hadn't understood what he had in his family – no matter how messed up. Hadn't realized the only way out was down.

He can't make it better though. He can't go back in time and fix it (knows it would just turn out the same even if he tried). So he does the best he can. He Winchester's up and pretends it didn't happen. Most of the time he just lets Dean ignore four years of their lives. But he's starting to think maybe he should have pushed sooner. If Dean met the Keeper of the Green and did cases with John frigging Constantine without mentioning it what else is he keeping from Sam? What else is he keeping from himself? Sam tries to shake off his concern and get back to the task at hand.

But of course that is easier said than done. There are more incidents the moment they get inside. It just gets worse once they're actually finishing the internal warding and prepping the spell.

After the third correction Chas asks John why he doesn't just get up the ladder and finish to door frame himself.

"Nah, can't be buggered mate," Constantine says cheerfully.

"Yes, you can," Dean answers in a snarky undertone, almost instantly. Like he's been waiting for the chance.

What the hell? Sam glares at his brother with as much disapproval as he can muster. Dean just shrugs. He isn't exactly politically correct but he isn't usually outright homophobic. Sam wonders if whatever happened with Cas is causing this explicit hostility. Maybe he can apologize and try to explain the situation to John later? 'My brother isn't actually a bigoted asshole, he's just in love with a dude.' Yeah, he might need to work on that one a bit.

Chas actually laughs but has the decency to look away. Which doesn't help. Of course Chas seemed to be under the impression that Dean and John were up to something this morning. Which would change the whole tone of that exchange into something totally inappropriate in a whole different way. Sam frowns. Eww.

"Sod off Winchester," John says. But he's laughing and doesn't look offended so there's that. God, Sam cannot wait to have all this over and done with. Wonders if he is the only adult there and if can just physically separate them.

0oOo0

The spell itself is deceptively simple.

Sam staggers forward from the force when Gabriel lands and the spell releases - he can physically feel the energy drain out of him to power it. Fuck. He was not expecting that. Dean catches his arm and glares at Constantine. Which, okay, probably fair seeing as it was his spell, but Sam sighs anyway.

"Sammich, how's it… Sam? Why am I in a binding circle?" Gabriel turns slowly to take in the rest of the room. "Johnny C, I should have fucking known."

"Mornin' squire," John says. Steps out of the shadows and drops his cigarette into the circle of holy oil setting the whole intricate pattern alight.

"That was unnecessarily dramatic," Gabriel says with an unnecessarily dramatic full body eye-roll.

"S'pose. But so's that," John says with a smile and points to Zed where she rests in Chas's arms next to him.

"What can I say, I'm just doing my job!" Gabriel grins back. He looks like he's enjoying this way too much.

"You're an archangel, mate – your job is sittin' around looking intimidating and waiting for daddy to come home. Not turning innocent psychics into bloody rodents!"

"Eh, I get bored," Gabriel says. "And anyway, I'm not the one who knowingly let her try and summon 'Loki' now am I, squire."

"You owe me, Gabriel." John's tone is starting to turn more menacing but the archangel appears to ignore it.

"Duh - that's why I'm helping! Rising darkness, apocalyptic blah blah blah, South American cults, et cetera."

"This is not sodding helping, turn her back."

"Hmmmm… no," Gabriel says after pretending to think about it for all of four seconds. Spins to face Sam and Dean instead. "Soooo, Winchesters huh?"

"We thought you were dead," Sam says taking that as his que. Ignores the glare from Constantine.

"Puh-lease," Gabriel says then shrugs and turns a little more serious. "Turns out Dad wasn't much of a fan of the apocalypse either. So, you know... ta da!"

"Have you found Him?" Castiel steps forward at last prompted by the mention of God. He sounds so softly hopeful that Sam can't help but hurt for him a little.

Sam feels Dean tense up next to him – like he's about to be hit. Which is… odd. Sam has always had more faith than the rest of his little family. Always had the luxury of it he realizes. But even he is pretty sure God is gone. The world is just too broken for any other explanation.

"Nah," Gabriel says brushing it off. But Sam thinks he sees something there. That same hopeful hopelessness that he's seen in Cas. Even seen it in Dean back when they were looking for their own dad come to think of it.

"As touching as all this is," Constantine interrupts, glancing at Dean of all people. "Can we stop pissing about and get back to the whole Zed not being a sodding guinea pig bit, yeah?"

"I dunno, I'm kinda enjoying the whole family reunion vibe," Gabe says with another mischievous grin. And oh no, Sam recognizes that grin. It's the one he gets before doing something either really devious or really insane. Maybe both. Damn it. "You boys know that whole vessel thing is hereditary right?"

"So?" Dean says aggressively. And yeah, Sam agrees with the word if not the tone. What's so special about that? They already knew that from the whole Winchester breeding program thing. But Constantine is staring at the archangel like he's considering running him through with an angel blade just to avoid whatever comes next.

"So, Deanosaur, I mean to say that you and Johnny boy are related" Gabriel says with his cat that got the cream smirk. "Just your type."

"What?" Dean and John say in unison. Okay that is actually pretty funny from the outside. Dean looks like he's going to be sick and Constantine just looks a bit more murderous. And, hang on, what?

"Once-removed in 1765," Castiel interrupts with an oddly human sigh. "Lord Edgard Constantine married Miss Isabella Campbell in 1763. Issued Lady Johanna Constantine in 1765. Lady Isabella's brother, Mr John Samuel Campbell, left for America that same year. It's not exactly a close relation."

Dean visibly relaxes. Sam is pretty sure he hears him whisper some kind of expletive under his breath too. Sam frowns. Because he gets what Gabriel is implying and it doesn't seem to matter how far back the connection is for John to be a vessel.

"Oh Cassie, you're no fun," Gabriel accuses. "Thought that particular seed of dissension would have been in your best interests too. You never were good at self-preservation were you bro?"

Cas just frowns.

"Hang on," Sam says. "Are you implying…" he trails off. Not sure if he should be rising to the bait. Not sure if he even wants to know. But not sure if he wants to be alone with this burden anymore either.

"Well, where do you think the Hellblazer gets all that hellfire from, huh?" Gabriel says realizing what Sam was trying to ask. "Same place you did Sammy - dose or three of demon blood and some angelically aided eugenics. Voila. Perfect vessel for the Morningstar."

And with the confirmation Sam can feel his world tilt and shift. He'd known there were other vessels of course. They'd seen Nick. But demon blood? He thought all the other tainted children were dead. And Constantine is at least ten years older than him. It doesn't make sense. It didn't…

"Hey, Sammy," Dean's voice breaks through the spinning in his head. "Not now, Sam."

Dean has come in close both hands on Sam's shoulders. Trying to ground him. Sam looks into his brother's eyes… and remembers. After he ganked Samhain psychically. The fight afterwards. Dean shouting at him. 'So, what? You're the next frigging Hellblazer now?' It kind of made sense at the time. He hadn't thought much of it. But suddenly it has a double meaning. A triple meaning.

"You knew?" Sam says. Hurt for some reason he still can't place.

"Some," Dean says. Grimaces. Tries to play it off. And Sam knows he has to pull it together. Knows that Dean needs him to be the strong one at the moment. So he nods instead of shouting.

"Sam, old son," John says without taking his eyes of Gabriel. "We can have a real long chat about it all, but after we finish with the git in the flaming circle, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, sure." Taking a deep breath. Dean steps away when he thinks Sam has it under control. Or as under control as he ever thinks Sam can get anyway.

"Hmph, booooring," Gabriel whines from the center of the circle. "Though I must say this is a better job than last time Johnny. Swapping in fresh bait, open summons then trigger the binding on impact. It was a real good effort. Almost lived up to the rep. But unfortunately for you kid, you forgot that you can't trick a trickster. And this is getting dull."

Gabriel makes a faux sympathetic expression. Snaps his fingers and… Stays put. Chas laughs – the first sound he's made since this all started. Gabriel just looks furious.

"Looks like you're not the only trickster in the room, mate," John says back to smug and self-assured.

"You arrogant bastard," Gabriel spits out. Changes like lightning from calm and amused to hot fury in seconds. "And you wonder why you need to be brought down a peg or three. You little…"

"You an' Johnny Cash were mates, right?" Constantine interrupts. Gabriel glares at him and half nods his assent. "Well, I might be the long tongued liar but your cunt of a father in't never gonna cut me down. And you sure as Hell aren't either." Sam can hear the capital letter. The reminder of what he is. What they all are. Just how high these stakes could go.

"I'm not some petty little demon, John. You don't scare me, Hellblazer," Gabriel says.

"Well I should," John responds. Pulls out his cell phone of all things. Grins at the erstwhile Trickster. "I'm the one with a certain succubus on speed dial, mate."

"Oh if we're playing that game then I'm the one who knows the true parentage of a certain English cambion and where you've hidden her, Johnny." Gabriel steps right up to the flame's edge. Real threat in his golden eyes now.

And that's the threat that does it. John flicks his wrist out to one side and there it is. The reason for the nickname. Hellfire. Greasy and sulfuric. Sam has to fight to breathe through smokeless terror. He hasn't seen that kind of fire in a very long time.

To Sam's surprise it is Dean, not Chas, who rushes forward, reaches out and pulls the Hellblazer back from attacking Gabriel. Leaves Cas to notice his potential panic and place a hand on Sam's shoulder. Dean grabs John by his elbows and manhandles him back from the fire's edge. Hisses something Sam can't hear.

Sure he doesn't have an arm full of guinea pig like Chas does but he was further away. And honestly Sam wasn't sure he would care enough about either Gabe or John enough to stop the attack. But Dean actually reacted even faster than Chas. He was moving almost as soon as Gabriel got the words out. Dean has a firm hold on Constantine's arms and whispers harshly in his ear. Whatever he says it's enough to calm the guy down. A bit. They exchange a few more words then John snaps his wrist again and the fire in his hand dissipates.

He's still glaring hard enough to melt glass. Doesn't pull away until Dean does though - just lets the hunter hold him back which is probably a good sign. He's calm enough not to rush back in. And with the hellfire gone Sam can use his lungs again which is nice.

"Manny," Gabriel calls out to thin air. "I know you're listening. Think you can control your monkey?"

And Sam feels the air change. The room already had a cold static charge to it from Cas and Gabriel. But now it increases – it's almost worse than the hellfire. Electric and fresh. An overwhelming wave of petrichor, ozone and silk. Sam hears the once familiar flutter of wings too.

But then nothing. No new angel. At least that's what he thinks at first. But then Cas, Gabriel and John all look in the same direction at once.

"What is it," Dean demands. Still right next to John. Noticing the same things Sam had.

But neither of the angels nor the Hellblazer responds to him. All silent and staring at the same spot until Gabriel speaks a few moments later.

"What, et tu Manny. Et tu?" Gabe complains to the interesting patch of thin air. "I mean I expect it from Cassie, he's basically the Winchester Chihuahua. But from you Mannael, it stings, it really does!"

Another odd pause.

"I didn't abandon anyone," Gabriel says defensively.

"You did kind of scarper out on 'em," John points out apparently having calmed down enough to return to casually snide. Sam is absolutely missing part of this conversation. "And almost let the apocalypse happen. Can't blame the kid for being a bit emotional."

Then John chuckles and both angels frown at something that only the three of them can hear.

"Your feathers are literally ruffled, mate," John says. "If that ain't emotional then I don't know what is."

Castiel says something in a sharp string of singing Enochian consonants. Too fast for Sam to follow.

Gabriel responds in the same humming language.

Constantine looks back at Sam as if to ask if he understood any of it. Sam shakes his head.

"What is going on?" Dean tries again. A slight hint of threat in his voice.

"They're negotiating," John says now that he is cut out of the conversation as well. "Manny actually gets less useless every day."

"Fine," Gabriel says after a few more convoluted chanting phrases of Enochian are exchanged. "But he can't threaten me with Elle again. That isn't how that deal was meant to work."

"Can't promise that, mate," John jumps in. "But I'll agree to a stalemate vis a vis the kid."

"Fine," Gabriel sighs. "Can you let me out now?"

"Say it."

"Geme'ga-n'za," Gabriel spits the Enochian out like it hurts him.

John smiles and snaps his fingers in an obvious mimicry of Gabe's usual gesture. The flames die out instantly. "Undo it and Sam'll break the rest."

Gabriel goes to snap his fingers too but thinks better of it and just waves towards Chas and Zed. Chas just barely gets out of the way as the guinea pig shimmers and suddenly fills up a whole lot more space. Turns out that she's a beautiful Latina woman. And Sam's not sure why he's surprised by that. He's just pleased she came back with clothes on.

"And the other thing," John says. Walks over to the archangel and holds out his hand expectantly. Gabriel rolls his eyes but pulls some kind of box out of thin air and hands it to the Hellblazer.

"Happy?" Gabe asks.

"Yeah, ta," Constantine smirks back.

"Samsquatch, you mind," Gabriel gestures grandly at the circle.

Sam looks to John who steps back out of the circle itself then nods. Sam goes to the South point and they both scrape through binding sigils at the same time. Releasing the angel.

"Ha, later suckers," Gabe says then pauses before snapping out. "Oh, and Sammy, next time you call make it private." The archangel winks lasciviously enough that Sam feels himself start to blush. He just hopes it isn't too obvious.

The tension in the room drops by metaphoric decibels with Gabriel gone. Sam takes a deep breath of relief and he's pretty sure he isn't the only one.

"Mann…" John half turns then sighs. "Right, ta'ra to you too then."

"Is that it?" the woman who must be Zed says. She stops hugging Chas long enough to come over to hug John instead. He looks a bit surprised by the show of affection but accepts readily enough. Sam can't blame him.

"Yeah, 'tis luv. Should do the trick." He pats her on the back as she pulls away.

"It's nice to actually meet you," Zed says then, turning to Cas.

"You too," Castiel says and nods with his usual solemnity and a slight smile. She rushes over then and takes his hand in hers and squeezes it. Smiling back full force. Sam remembers his own first angel encounter. Cas really has come a long way since then.

"It is so good to have the right type of limbs again," she says with a breathy laugh. "So do we need to clean up?"

"Nah, not much, luv. A line through the circle and a bucket of water should cleanse off most of it."

She nods and goes over to help Chas with just that. They're both obviously familiar with their roles as Constantine's entourage. Sam stifles a laugh at that.

"Deanna and Samuel Campbell were third cousins," Cas says to Dean out of the blue.

"Thanks Cas," Dean says and gives the angel a strange searching look that Sam really can't translate.

"Okay, I still don't get why that is such a big deal?" Sam says somewhat grumpily. He's tired and thirsty and sick of only having half the picture.

Dean gives him the 'Sammy stop being an idiot' look. "Fuck it," Dean mutters, half to himself, and stomps over to the Hellblazer, grabs him by the tie and… what the fucking fuck?

His brother, Dean freaking Winchester, is kissing a dude in front of him. In front of other people. In front of this Zed woman (who is totally Dean's type – aka female and good looking). And in front of Chas, and Cas! Kissing a dude in front of Cas. A dude that is most definitely not Cas. Even if they do dress kind of similar…

But that, somehow, isn't the strangest part. The strangest part is the way John reacts. He just moves in and kisses back. No hesitation, no surprise, despite the tie grab. He just takes a breath before it happens like he knows what is coming the moment Dean stepped in close enough. Moves right automatically where Dean goes left. Moves into it by instinct.

Sam has seen Dean kiss a lot of women over the years. He'd become a bit of an expert in it as a teenager in fact. A little to his chagrin Sam knows exactly how his brother likes to be kissed. And that, right there, is it.

Zed is the only other person who looks even a little bit shocked. Chas doesn't even pause in packing up. Even Castiel is just looking at his shoes like they're fascinating.

It's John who breaks first. Pulling back and looking at Dean like he's frigging astounding.

"You know there's folk about, right mate?" John says.

"Oh, keep calm and…" Dean starts to say.

"If you say 'carry on' I will sodding burn you, Winchester."

"Promise?" Dean says, with a smirk - all smooth and… oh gross.

Sam has been waiting for this reveal for years. Literally years (the sexuality crisis one, that is, not the creepy pain kink thing - that one could have gone without saying). Although he had expected it to be more of a 'it's not guys, it's him' kind of thing and far more Cas centric. Now it's finally arrived it turns out that this has just increased the pool of people and things Dean can do to make Sam uncomfortable. Great. He's already wondering if he can just package his brother all the way back in the closet somehow. There's got to be a spell for that right?

**Chapter Notes:**

_I Want You Around_ is a Ramones song.

You can read John's implied half-demon kid as either Maria (from Hellblazer) or Rose (from DC continuity).

Elle is the succubus from Hellblazer who seduces Gabriel and rips out his heart – giving John control over the archangel.

Also, I know it's annoying to beg for comments but they're seriously what keeps me writing this stuff. So if you enjoyed it (or even if you didn't) it would be really lovely if you can take a moment to let me know. Thank you petals!


	19. She Drags my World Awake 1

"You 'ere for me, luv?" John asks sleepily. He should probably be scared. Or something. Actually, lack of adrenal response? Maybe she _is_ here for him? He looks back into the bed behind him but there's nothing there but a pillow and a sleeping hunter.

She shakes her head and smiles at him. That soft sweet smile that makes so many willingly walk into her arms. Peaceful promises and endless endings.

"Bugger, you're not here for the lad are ya?" John's never literally fucked someone to death. But there's a first for everything and he's almost willing to believe that he is toxic enough to do it. He'd been hoping that demon blood wouldn't agree with the Mark but not like that.

But Death just shakes her head again. Moves from her position at the end of the bed to sit down on its edge next to John. Still smiling soft and serene.

"No, John. I'm not here for either of you. Although I would come in person for both." She reaches out to pick up his hand and he lets her. Because she is what she is. Utterly unstoppable. The ultimate end. She gets to do what she wants. "Anyway, you're _both_ rather good at avoiding me. Don't you think?"

He shrugs. "Luck's gotta run out some time, luv."

"One would assume," she says. Smile far too knowing for his liking. "I'm not here for a collection, John. I'm here to ask for a favour." Her universe deep eyes meet his and he swallows back genuine mortal fear.

That… doesn't sound good. The thing about a favour for one of the Endless is that it sounds like a good deal. Having one of Them owe you sounds like something you want. But it's a con, a fawney rig. Brass for gold. It always costs more than you think. And it means getting involved in a whole new level of fucked up world melting bad. They play at the universal level and he's just a fucked up little punk from Liverpool. This was never what he signed up for. Not that it's ever really a choice though. Not with Them.

"What," he says, not quite asks, as suspiciously as he dares. Takes back his hand so he can light a ciggie while he processes whatever it is she's about to force on him. He feels the warm star-forged metal of her ring slide against his skin and tries not to shudder.

"It's Fate she…" Death starts to say.

"No," he interrupts her. Which is stupid. Really pig-headed, arse over ears, moronic. But… no. Just _no_.

She looks at him impassively while he realises that he just interrupted the most powerful being in, and above, all creation.

The Three Sisters are an entity which he has had more than enough to do with for ten lifetimes. Not to mention he's pretty sure the middle one flirts with him and the other two want him obliterated which… okay, even when you don't have the universe's biggest case of split personality that _is_ a pretty normal reaction to John Constantine. But it's still bleeding creepy.

"Why can't sodding Destiny deal with it, whatever _it_ is?" John asks. Only a little plaintively. Because he knows it isn't really worth fighting this but there's something in him that won't let him yield that easy. Even to Death. And that right there is kind of his whole story really. "They're his b… kids."

Or whatever. Offspring? Progeny? Aspects? What to call the children of the Endless probably isn't the most pertinent question of the night really.

"Because he's Destiny," Death says with a sigh and a shrug. It's a very human gesture. One he knows all too well. He's seen Cheryl do it. And Chas come to think of it. Normally after the words 'Because he's John' and normally when he's completely rat arsed drunk or about to do something world endingly stupid. So, you know, quite bloody often. The parallel would be funny if it wasn't terrifying.

"Fine. Let me rephrase. Why _me_?"

"Because you are what you _are_, John," she says. Gives him another infuriatingly soft smile. Sometimes he thinks he's a little bit in love with her. It would explain a lot. "For this, I need the Laughing Magician. That would be you."

The last bit wasn't necessary. He was already well and truly aware of all the pain and hellfire that particular heritage brought down on him. And, yeah alright, sometimes helped him avoid some too. But it was still closer to a dig than a compliment. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and draws on a bit of inner steel he's not always sure is there.

He looks down at Winchester sleeping soundly through all this. At this point he doubts even another apocalypse would be able to wake anyone in the building. Even the damn angel is probably asleep thanks to Death's influence. She always gets what she wants. Always gets everything eventually, even if she doesn't want it.

"An' if I do this, _you_ will owe me one? That's you offer?"

"Yes."

He opens his eyes to watch her reaction. "An unspecified favour to be called in at me own convenience, yeah?"

"Yes," she sighs it this time. Knows the very power she wants to exploit is probably going to get turned against her at some point. "Within the rules and reason of course."

"Of course," he says. Grimaces. Trust her to put on the perfect caveat. But he can work it. Probably. "Alright, let's talk terms. But I'm going to need tea. Proper goddamned tea not this American swill."

She stands up and offers him her hand. "Scotland?" she suggests.

"No, you'll make me eat another deep fried mars bar or somethin' and I'll be sick." He balances his fag on his lip while he looks around for his clothes. Otherwise she'll just zap him off naked again. And no one will notice because he's with Her but it's still bloody uncomfortable. He swings his legs off the edge of the bed and starts putting his trousers on.

"Provençe?" she says in perfect French. Because even languages die.

"Sure," John says. "Do I get to tell 'em where I'm going or do we just flutter off?"

She shrugs and waves her hand towards the sleeping Winchester. Who blinks awake almost immediately. Without any supernatural force keeping him asleep the presence in the room is enough to wake him. Hand already sliding for a weapon until his eyes fall on Death standing next to his bed.

"What the fuck is he doing here," Dean says. Scrambles back as though getting out of her reach will help. But at least the fear and disbelief is probably a healthier reaction to finding the Grim Reaper in your room than John's had been. Ah well. No one ever accused John Constantine of being a model of humanity anyway.

"Makin' my _life_ more difficult," John says and lets the emphasis show the mortal irony in that one. "And, hang on, he?"

Dean looks at John like he's the crazy one. Which alright, maybe they're equally matched in that one too. But still.

"Most mortals see me as they need to," Death answers. And, yeah John knew that. Knew she had more than one face to choose from. He sees what she prefers because he is what he is and then bled himself dry becoming more. But he just assumed Winchester would go for the cute goth chick. Who wouldn't?

And then Death's visage flickers. For a moment she's the skeleton, cloak and scythe and all. And then he sees what Dean must see. A tall angular man with those same galactic eyes in a gaunt face.

"Bloody hell Winchester, I thought I had daddy issues!"

Death laughs. Fading back to her feminine form (for John's eyes at least) mid-way through. So he hears both the deep melodic baritone and the sweeter but equally dangerous alto he's used to. That probably shouldn't be sexy for a whole range of reasons that he's not even going to worry about right now.

Winchester still looks like he's seriously thinking about trying to stab Death with an angel blade.

"S'right luv," John lies soothingly. "Won't take long?"

Death shrugs and sort of nods – which is apparently all the guarantee he's getting on that one.

John shrugs into his shirt then leans forward to kiss the other man. Grabs him by the jaw and presses in firm and reassuring with a confidence he doesn't really feel. He feels Dean stiffen at first, aware of Death's presence, but then he must decide to throw caution to the wind again and melts into it. A hand ends up in John's hair like dean is going to drag him back down into the bed. But Death clears her throat and Winchester flinches back.

John smirks at him and pats his cheek before standing back up and offering Death his hand.

"You're just going off with him," Dean half-flails at Death. "Wait, you're not dying are you?"

"No I'm not… well not as far as I know any road." John looks at Death but she remains unmoved. Patience tends to come with inevitability. "And what would you do?"

"Um…"

"Thought so. Don't worry, luv. Won't be a tick. Bring you back some of the god awful Tropézienne tart rubbish, yeah?"

"I… I don't even know what that is?" Winchester manages to sound both pathetically defeated and dangerously grumpy at the same time. It's actually fairly impressive.

"It's sort of like pie. You'll love it, honest. Now, I've got some negotiations to win." John smiles at Death with as much superiority as you can when you're grinning at the End of all Ends.

Death rolls her eyes, winks at Winchester then grabs John's hand. He gets one last glimpse of Winchester's confusion before the word goes gold and they're on a street corner in Toulon. It's only then that he remembers he doesn't even have his damn coat.


	20. She Drags my World Awake 2

**Several Years Earlier…**

"Sod off Spike," John says before the vampire can steal into a seat at the bar next to him.

"Bugger you, mate."

"No thanks. I really don't need the Slayer cutting me head off. Nice offer though."

"Ha, bloody ha," Spike says. He gives a mild snarl but looks like he's giving up to wander off to harass someone else. Which will leave John to his beer in peace for once. Thank Christ.

In fact John is just congratulating himself on a narrow escape when time freezes around him. Just what he bleeding needs. Angels or demi-gods – that'd teach him to try and drown his sorrows at Oblivion. He turns slowly to find the source of this latest disruption to an otherwise standard evening.

"Atropos?" John says when he spots her curled over and sobbing in one of the demon skin booths.

She looks up, face blotchy and eyes red. "Oh, great. You!" she says with venom.

"Yeah, me," John sighs. Part of him just wants to stay put. Or maybe run away. But who knows how long she'll keep this up for. So he gets up, grabs his beer and grudgingly goes over to take the seat on the other side of the booth. "So, how much booze _does_ it take to get Fate trolleyed?"

"Lots," she says before collapsing back onto her arms. And, yeah, sobbing. Brilliant.

Could be worse though, at least it isn't Lachesis – she's scary enough sober. John isn't sure what would happen if he ever encountered the middle Fate sister when she had managed to drink half of old Jim Rook's 'special' top shelf. The mere thought is enough to have him suppress a shudder.

"So," he says. Sucks on his teeth while he tries to find a way out of this mess. "Any particular reason you've stopped time?"

"Oh," she says looking up again. "Oops." Time starts to flow again. John is amused to see the annoying vampire taken aback on the other side of the room.

"Ta, luv. I'll leave you to… this." He's tries to slide out of the seat but her hand snakes out and holds his wrist. He tries not to panic. He is literally being held in place by Fate.

"Shouldn't you be laughing at us? Isn't that what you _do_?" Atropos demands.

"So they tell me," he says and tries to extract his sleeve from her grip.

"I hate you."

"Well, um, that's nice luv. I'm not _particularly _fond of you either."

God, and this is meant to be the pedantic one. He wonders what the other two are like after the apocalypse that wasn't. Okay, now he regrets wondering about that too. Why in hell did he even come over here?

"But…" she points at him and he leans back. "At least when you do it, you're meant to do it... Sort of."

"Right you are, luv." He scowls and pats her hand half-heartedly.

"I think my ex is screwing a _human_!" Atropos wails.

Oh fuck.

John wonders if has enough on him to bodge his way through summoning the rest of the Moirai so her sisters can deal with her. Can pub pretzels substitute for virgin baked harvest bread? He's pretty sure he knows enough Archaic Greek to blag his way through the complicated parts. But he's also not sure just how connected the three are – he might just end up tripling his drunk goddess problem. Which shouldn't even be his bloody problem at all. Bugger. When the hell did he turn into such a soppy wanker?

"I mean, it all started with that stupid antichrist in the 80s," she continues - unaware of John's internal diatribe. "He made screwing us over popular, you know? I don't know why I even keep trying? Humans just don't know their place these days. Then these stupid Winchesters come along… and mess it up all over again."

"That is more or less their gig, yeah." Comforting a sobbing deity about the lack of apocalypses. Not exactly how he expected the evening to go. But nowhere near his strangest Tuesday night. Hell, it's not even his strangest Tuesday night this year.

"It's just not _right_," she complains then takes another long swig from the bottle of vile blue liquid that was helping her get in this state in the first place. "And then… a human. A… a _human_! Gross."

"Sorry?" John lost the thread of conversation there and for some reason he was prompting her before his brain caught up with him.

"Castiel," she snaps. Because apparently that was meant to be obvious. "He's sleeping with one of the Winchesters. I can tell… can't tell which one though." Her face scrunches up in a way that would be cute if she wasn't, you know, Fate. "Maybe both of them?" She looks up at John like he has the answers. Still doesn't let go of his sodding wrist though.

Now _there's_ a thought. A thought that Winchester would fucking eviscerate him for ever having had. Still a bloke can't help what his imagination does when he's being held hostage by a drunk anthropomorphic personification, can he? Those lads do have damn good genetics. Winchester's a kinky sod but _probably _not that kinky.

John tries to get his hand back again. Fails, again. Wasn't his whole daft heritage meant to be about getting one over on this bird? Well, he was doing a piss poor job of it so far. John is shaken from his thoughts by a female voice with a light Californian accent.

"Need some help again Hellblazer?"

John looks up sharply at the petite blond who has managed to sneak in behind him and lean across the back of his seat.

"Don't think you can _slay _fate, luv."

"Hey," Buffy says. Points at herself then at John. "Me, helpy equals you shutting up… ee."

Bird hasn't changed an ounce. He grins up at her and shrugs his agreement.

"Heya, Atropos?" Buffy says to the drunken demi-god with an deceptively sweet smile.

Atropos looks up from her moping to glare at Buffy.

"You! I h..." Fate says, starts off grumpy but fades to neutral after a moment's thought. "Actually, you I don't mind so much."

"Yeah, well, I almost did what you told me to," Buffy says with surprising softness. "Must make a nice change around here, right?"

Atropos thinks about it for a long moment, mind still clouded with blue ambrosia, then nods firmly and gives the Slayer a mournful look. John's not sure if she still gets the capitalisation these days, now that she's a slayer not The Slayer. But he decides to give it to her anyway seeing as she's trying to help him out. See, he _can _be respectful now and then.

Buffy sits down next to Fate and slowly pulls her hand away from John's wrist covering the act with a gentle patting motion.

"There, there," Buffy puts an arm around Fate's shoulders. And John would almost buy the compassion if he didn't know better. "Why don't you tell Auntie Buffy all about it?"

John slides out of the booth sharply as soon as he's free.

"You _owe _me Constantine," the Slayer hisses as he makes his escape. "_So_ much!" she adds with a pointed glare when Atropos starts sobbing into her shoulder.

He groans, "Yeah, yeah. You're a right doll." He blows her a kiss which she blatantly ignores.

"John?"

He turns back to his 5'2" saviour and her armful of deity. "Yeah?" he says suspiciously.

"Go make sure Spike doesn't get into any of that 120 proof fairy blood I _know _Jim has behind the bar?"

Bugger.

"Right you are, luv." He tries not to sound too sulky. He really doesn't need to get on this bird's bad side (again).

The bleach blond vamp appears to be engaged in some kind of intense debate with Dan Cassidy. And considering Dan is the bouncer that's probably not a good thing.

This is probably going to come back and bite him in the arse. But if he started dwelling on that he wouldn't really be John Constantine, would he? So he saunters over to find out what all the fuss is about. Wonders if Jim can come up with something human friendly in the 120 proof range and how many it will take to help him forget this evening ever happened.


End file.
